Guilty Until Proven Innocent
by Deana
Summary: A simple mission goes bad when Newkirk is captured by German civilians...one of which holds a serious grudge against the British...
1. Caught

Guilty Until Proven Innocent  
A Hogan's Heroes story  
By Deana Lisi  
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from Hogan's Heroes. Boo hoo.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Okay, Andrew, we gotta make this fast."

"Right."

Newkirk watched as Carter darted over to one end of the bridge, before he started running towards the other. The bridge in the town of Steudten was very long, so they'd decided to place explosives at each end, to ensure that the entire thing would be destroyed. It took him a few minutes to reach it, and he climbed the underside and quickly put the bomb in place. It only took a few minutes, and he quickly climbed down.

The bombs were set to explode in two hours, and Newkirk headed back into the woods to meet up with Carter.

A minute into his walk, he was startled by the abrupt sound of a gunshot. _Oh no! _he thought, immediately assuming that Carter had been spotted. He pulled out his own gun and quickly started running in the direction that the shot had come from. _Please tell me ya ain't shot, Andrew…_he thought to himself, a knot of fear growing in his stomach.

Another gunshot sounded, and he started running even faster, trying to be quick but quiet at the same time. He suddenly heard a rustling sound and stopped, just in time to nearly have a heart attack when a deer literally ran into him, making him drop his gun and stumble back a step.

Another shot suddenly sounded, and a sudden pain shot down his leg. Gasping in shock, he fell back into a tree and landed on his rear.

A second later, a young man looking no older than sixteen burst through the trees, carrying a rifle. He stopped in shock at the sight of a stranger sitting on the ground. "Wer sind Sie?" he said, asking who Newkirk was.

Newkirk's gun lay at the feet of the German, and the Englishman looked down at his right leg, which was bleeding halfway between his ankle and knee. The pain wasn't _too_ severe, which told him that he'd probably only been grazed by the bullet. Still, it hurt a _lot_, and he was upset to find that he'd obviously been caught by a hunter's stray bullet. _I gotta meet up with Andrew an' get back ta the stalag!_

Before either of them could say anything else, another man came running over, staring in shock. "Ein Engländer!" he exclaimed.

Newkirk sighed. Their black outfits had gotten muddy and soaked the previous night in the rain, so he and Carter had chosen to wear their regular uniforms for this mission. Obviously, these young men knew how to identify the British military. Typical luck.

The newcomer saw the gun in the grass and grabbed it, sticking it into his waistband before pointing his rifle at Newkirk.

"Nein!" exclaimed the younger boy, reaching out to push it away. "Sie können ihn nicht schießen!"

"Aber er ist ein Engländer!"

Newkirk looked around urgently, wondering if he could somehow slip away. The German men didn't know that he could understand what they were saying…_The younger one doesn't want 'im ta shoot me, but the older one wants me dead because I'm from England…bloody wonderful…_

Suddenly, the front of his jacket was grabbed by the older boy, and Newkirk was taken aback by the look of utter hatred in his eyes. "You are coming with _us_," he said, speaking English, with barely a trace of accent.

Newkirk looked down at the rifle pointed at his chest, saying nothing.

"Binden Sie ihn fest!" the man yelled to the other.

Clearly hesitating, the younger boy took rope out of a bag slung over his shoulder.

_They're gonna truss me up like a bloomin' deer, an' probably turn me in ta the Gestapo! _Newkirk realized. Finally, he decided to speak. "Look, fellas…why don't ya just let me go? No 'ard feelin's that ya shot me, I'll just go on me merry way…"

Stars erupted in his vision, and Newkirk suddenly found himself lying flat on the ground with his head spinning. It took him a few seconds to realize that the man had punched him in the eye. Suddenly he was flipped over onto his stomach, and his arms were roughly pulled back. He struggled, trying to get away, but a sudden punch to his right kidney quickly stopped him.

The older boy tied the rope impossibly tight before yanking Newkirk to his feet.

Wincing, Newkirk tried to stand up straight on his wounded leg. He was surprised at the young German's strength, and figured that the man outweighed himself by forty or fifty pounds. _I hope 'e doesn't intend ta use me as a punchin' bag, _he thought. _'Cause 'e would definitely win any fight we get into…_

The man jabbed Newkirk with his rifle, and he limped in the direction that he was forced to walk, wondering how on earth he was going to get out of _this_ one…

TBC

Uh oh, what have I gotten Newkirk into THIS time? LOL


	2. The Search Begins

Carter waited for Newkirk at the prearranged spot, wondering where he could possibly be. He unexpectedly heard a sudden gunshot, and his heart leaped into his throat. Quickly glancing around, he tried to figure out where it had come from and chose a direction, but then he heard another shot, which seemed to come from somewhere else.

Worried about his friend, Carter continued to look, but found no trace of him. He searched for over a half-hour before deciding to go back to camp for help.

Carter ran back, not slowing even once. When he reached the tree stump, he climbed down the ladder so fast that he almost fell down it instead. "Colonel Hogan!" he exclaimed. "Colonel!"

"Carter? What is it?" he heard, as Hogan came over from near the radio. "Where's Newkirk?"

"I don't know!" Carter replied, gasping for air. "He never…met me…after setting…the bombs…I heard gunshots…but couldn't find him!"

Hogan blinked. "Oh _great_…" He turned around and dashed up the ladder leading to the barracks, coming back a minute later with Kinch and LeBeau. "Let's go."

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Newkirk's injured leg nearly buckled when he was roughly poked in the back—yet again—by the point of the rifle. He was thoroughly sick of it by now, but wasn't stupid enough to complain to a man who obviously hates the British. He'd had no opportunities to escape…not with his hands tied behind him. He knew that if he ran, he'd be shot in the back. _Better ta try escapin' after we reach wherever it is we're goin', _he thought.

Finally, they came to a little farmhouse. Newkirk was relieved…he really wanted to get off his leg. He could tell that the wound wasn't serious, but walking on it certainly wasn't making it any better. The man poked him with the gun again, harder this time, and Newkirk landed on his knees, sucking in a pained gasp. "That wasn't very nice," he was foolish enough to say.

That one got him a kick in the back that knocked him flat on his face.

"Quiet!" the man yelled.

Newkirk, trying to regain the breath that had been knocked out of him, wisely gave no reply. He was roughly pulled to his feet, and pushed towards the door of the house. The inside was nicer than Newkirk expected, and soon he was lead to another door, which opened to a cellar. Newkirk tried to walk down the steps as fast as his aching leg would let him, afraid that he would be pushed down them if he didn't go fast enough. He managed to succeed, and was soon brought to a room built with metal walls.

"This room was intended to protect us in an air raid," the man said. "Who could've known that it'd be used as a cell to hold one of the enemy!"

The younger boy said nothing.

"Well," said Newkirk, really not wanting to go inside. "It doesn't _'ave ta_ hold one of the 'enemy'…ya still could let me _go, _ya know—"

He was cut off as the man opened the door and shoved him inside. Newkirk's leg gave out again and he once more fell to his knees. The door slammed shut behind him, and he shifted to a sitting position with a sigh. _Got meself into a right mess __this__ time, I 'ave, _he thought.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hogan and the others reached the bridge, and they all split up. Each one of them was nervous, afraid of what they might find.

Hogan studied the ground, looking for clues or signs of a struggle. A chilling sight met his eyes, and he knelt to get a closer look. A knot grew in his stomach as he took out his walkie-talkie and called the men over to his location.

A couple minutes later, the other three had all arrived.

"What did you find?" Carter exclaimed.

Hogan pointed to the ground. "Blood."

LeBeau instantly turned around rather than see.

"So the…the _gunshots_ I heard…" Carter stuttered.

Hogan nodded with a sigh. "Looks that way."

Carter looked around. "There should be a trail! Let's follow it!"

Hogan looked at his watch. "First, we need to take cover! That bridge is set to explode in three minutes!"

"Colonel…" Kinch suddenly said.

Everyone looked at him, realizing the same thing at the same time…the bridge was about to blow sky high with Newkirk missing.

"We have to find him before it blows up!" Carter shouted.

Hogan grabbed his arm. "There's no time!"

Carter's face dramatically paled.

"Come on," Hogan said. He pulled Carter along as they ran deeper into the woods and hid behind some trees, blocking their ears.

Right on time, the bombs detonated, and the bridge was completely obliterated.

_God, please,_ Carter prayed. _Please tell me that I didn't just kill my best friend…!_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newkirk tried to get a look at his leg, but was unable to see much, with his hands still tied behind his back. He was pretty sure the bullet had merely grazed him, but it was still bleeding, which probably meant that it was deep. He squirmed, trying to loosen the ropes, without success.

Newkirk sighed, wondering what had happened to make that young man hate the British. The two Germans looked like brothers, and the younger one didn't seem to share his older brother's hate.

Suddenly, the door opened, and in walked the younger brother. Newkirk smiled, deciding to be nice. Maybe he could get the boy to let him go? "Well, 'ello there."

The boy looked nervous. He was holding a long piece of cloth. "I'm here to fix that," he said, gesturing to Newkirk's leg.

"That's decent of ya," Newkirk said. "If ya untie me, I can fix it meself if ya'd like."

The boy looked behind himself and closed the door. "I can't do that. Hans will kill me."

Newkirk frowned. "So 'is name is 'Hans', then? An' what's _your_ name?"

"Fritz."

Newkirk smiled. "If ya knew 'ow many people I've met named 'Hans' an' 'Fritz' in the three years I've been 'ere…"

The boy shrugged and knelt beside him. "Common names."

Newkirk nodded. "So Hans is your older brother?"

Fritz nodded. "He's twenty-five. I'm almost eighteen." He reached forward towards the rip in Newkirk's pant leg.

Newkirk watched, seeing that he was right; the wound was a deep graze. He tried not to wince as Fritz bandaged it.

After he was done, Fritz stood, standing there awkwardly.

"You're not like ya brother," Newkirk said. "I can see it, plain as day. Ya don't 'ave ta do what 'e tells ya if it's wrong, ya know."

Fritz opened his mouth to reply, but closed it again.

"Where's ya parents?" Newkirk asked.

"My mother died when I was three," Fritz told him. "My…father…" he paused, biting his lip.

Newkirk waited.

A tear suddenly spilled out of each of Fritz's eyes. "I have to go," he said, heading towards the door.

"Wait!" said Newkirk.

But it was too late. The boy was out the door in a flash.

Newkirk sighed. _So much for that._

The door suddenly opened again, and Hans came in this time. "What did you _do_?" he roared.

Newkirk blinked. "Do?"

"You upset my brother!"

"No he didn't, Hans!" said Fritz, coming back in. "He didn't do anything."

Hans looked at his brother, seeing the tears still drying on his face. "You're too soft, Fritz! It's _his_ fault!" he said, pointing at Newkirk.

"Now, look 'ere," said Newkirk. "Ya brother is tellin' the truth. I didn't do a thing ta 'im."

"Maybe not to _him_," said Hans, his eyes angry. "But to our father!"

"What?" said Newkirk, confused.

"It's _your_ fault!" Hans exclaimed. "You killed our father!"

TBC


	3. Waiting

Hogan and the others tried to follow the trail of blood, but it was intermittent and not very heavy. They were relieved to see that Newkirk's wound obviously wasn't serious, but it was a very tough trail to follow, and they got more and more nervous as time continued to pass.

The trail became even more intermittent, and they eventually lost it, continuing straight through the woods when they should have veered off to the right…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"I did _what_?" Newkirk exclaimed. "I 'ave no bloody idea who ya father was!"

"And thanks to this war, you'll _never_ know!" Hans shot back.

"He was a soldier," said Fritz, sadly. "And didn't survive a recent campaign…"

"A campaign against the _British_," said Hans.

Newkirk shook his head. Hans was blaming _him_ for that? "War is a terrible thing that should never 'appen, but every man who joins the military knows what they're gettin' into, an' that they might not survive!"

For the second time that day, Newkirk saw stars. Half passed-out from the sudden blow, he hardly realize he was lying on the floor until Hans started to kick him.

"Stop it!" he heard Fritz exclaim.

Newkirk couldn't even protect himself, with his hands tied behind his back. All he could do was try to squirm away.

Hans kicked him a couple more times before stopping, shrugging himself free from Fritz's hold and storming out, pulling his brother with him.

Newkirk didn't move; eyes closed, breathing heavily. His entire body hurt…especially his wounded leg, which he knew Hans had kicked on purpose. He was sure he'd find bruises everywhere once he got out of this. _The guv'nor will find me, _he told himself. _Carter went back ta the stalag an' got them all ta look. It won't be long…_

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"Hans, he's right."

The older brother stopped dead and turned around. "What?"

"The Englander is right! It's not his fault that papa chose to join the military! It's no one's fault that he was killed!"

Hans pushed his brother into the wall. "What are you saying? An Englander fired the gun that killed our father! Doesn't that mean anything to you? Don't you even _care_?"

"Of course I care!" Fritz shouted. "But you're taking it out on an innocent man!"

"How do you know he's innocent? How do you know that he's not the one who shot our father?"

Fritz said nothing.

Hans let go of his brother, stepping away from the wall. "I'm not letting him go, Fritz. I actually have a chance to avenge our father's death, and I'm going to take it."

Fritz frowned. "What are you saying?"

Hans turned to look at him. "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to _kill_ that Englander…once I'm through with him."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newkirk lay where he was, aching too badly to move. He stared at the metal door, wishing that he had some way of getting it open…wishing that he had his hands free! His shoulders were screaming with pain from being wrenched back for so long.

For a long time, he thought of his German captors, feeling sorry for them. _If I were Hans, would I be thinkin' the same way? _he wondered. _No…I couldn't deliberately 'urt an innocent person like 'e's doin'. Poor Fritz…'avin' a brother like that. _

Newkirk shifted a little and winced at the pain in his injured leg. Looking down at it, he could see that blood had seeped through the bandage thanks to Hans' kick. _Blimey…what can drive a man ta be so 'eartless?_ If Hans had seen his father killed, and tried to defend him, that would be one thing…but to capture and abuse a stranger for sharing the killer's nationality? That was entirely different. That was _insane_.

Newkirk sighed. There was no telling what Hans would do next…the man was mentally unstable. _Colonel, if you're out there lookin' for me,_ he thought._ Could ya look a little faster?_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Colonel, it's getting late."

Hogan sighed. "I know, Kinch; almost time for lights out." He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and proceeded to tie it around the branch of a nearby bush, to mark the place that they'd left off.

"But we _can't_ go back!" said Carter, incredulous. "We haven't found him yet!"

"We can't be missing when Schultz goes into the barracks, Carter," Hogan told him. "Bad enough he won't see Newkirk…but I might have a solution for that. Let's go. We'll come back again after lights out."

Kinch and Hogan turned around to walk back, but Carter and LeBeau hesitated.

Hogan knew that they hadn't followed, and turned around to look at them. Instead of being angry that they hadn't obeyed, he looked sympathetic. "Guys?" he said with a sigh.

Carter and LeBeau both looked very upset, and gave sighs of their own as they followed.

The walk back to the stalag was very quiet; no one said a single word. They finally made it to the stump and climbed down, quietly making their way up into the barracks and into their nightclothes.

Soon, Schultz was coming in the door. "Time for lights out! LIIIIIIIGHTS OUT!"

"Shh!" Hogan said. "Newkirk's already asleep. He has a headache and went to bed early."

"Oh, sorry," said Schultz, glancing at the lump on Newkirk's bunk. "One," he whispered, pointing at it. "Two!" he whispered, pointing at Hogan, and tiptoeing away to count the others.

Hogan and Carter exchanged a look, as the colonel went into his quarters.

When Schultz was done, he tiptoed back over to the door. "Good night!" he whispered with a wave.

Whispered 'good nights' were called back, and Schultz quietly shut the door on his way out.

Hogan came back out of his room with a flashlight, as Carter, Kinch, and LeBeau climbed out of their bunks.

"Gee, who would've thought we'd need that dummy to impersonate Newkirk twice in the same year*," said Carter.

"Whatever works," Hogan said, whacking the latch on the bunk that opened the tunnel. They quickly climbed down, donned their black clothes, and left…desperately hoping that they would find Newkirk—_alive_—by morning roll call.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newkirk eventually got himself up off the floor and sat in a corner. He'd noticed that the room had a small window a few feet lower than the ceiling, but he wouldn't be able to reach it even if his hands were free.

It was now four hours after Hans and Fritz had left, and neither man had returned.

Newkirk was glad to have a respite; he didn't know how long it would last. Sighing, his eyes drifted shut and reopened again. He figured it was somewhere around midnight, and he was tired. He knew he probably wouldn't sleep much, though, wondering what Hans planned to do with him. The situation was made even more sinister by the fact that it was now pitch dark in the room; the moon, shining through the small window, provided the only light.

Newkirk shifted his position with a wince, glad that his leg had stopped bleeding, at least. He looked up at the window again, wishing it hadn't been built so high up. _This is ridiculous…there's gotta be some way of gettin' outta 'ere! _he thought. With a sigh, he realized that he had no choice but to wait for daylight.

His eyes continued to close of their own free will, and he eventually fell into an uneasy slumber.

TBC

* 'How to Catch a Papa Bear', season four, episode three.


	4. Get Used To Disappointment

Hogan frowned when they came out of the woods and into a clearing. They all shined their flashlights, finding nothing but grass, plants, and a river. "This doesn't make sense," he whispered. "There's probably nothing for miles around."

"Where could Newkirk be?" Carter replied, nervously.

Hogan shook his head. He looked at his watch, and realized that they needed to head back again.

"Oh, Colonel…" said Carter, knowing what he was about to say.

"I'm sorry, guys," Hogan said. "We have to start back now in order to make roll call."

"The longer it takes us to find him, the worse his chances of being alive!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"What do you expect me to do?" Hogan said, getting annoyed now. "I feel the same way that you do! I don't want to go back and leave him who-knows-where _either_! Would you rather all five of us miss roll call and Klink sends out the dogs? How are we supposed to look for him while hiding from the krauts? Suppose he catches us four and throws us all into the cooler? Who will look for Newkirk _then_?"

LeBeau and Carter lowered their heads.

Hogan sighed. "Look, I'm sorry…I know this is hard—"

"No, _we_ are sorry, Colonel," said LeBeau. "You are right. We have no choice but to do it this way."

Hogan put an arm around both him and Carter. "Try not to worry so much. For all we know, Newkirk's fine and found somewhere to hide. We'll find him if we have to look every night and in-between every single roll call."

Both men nodded.

"Come on," Hogan said, nudging them back the way they came.

Kinch hung back and looked at him. "Considering we haven't found him yet, do you really think we'll find Newkirk alive, Colonel?"

Hogan sighed, glad that Kinch couldn't see the uncertainty on his face in the dark. "I hope so, Kinch."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Newkirk startled awake, not sure what had woken him. He found himself still sitting on the floor, and there was some light filling the room now. He craned his neck up to look at the window, and figured that it was near-dawn. He sighed and tried to shift his position again, trying to get some relief in his cramped muscles, but it didn't really work. Stretching was out of the question, after Hans' little kick-fest the night before.

Leaning his shoulder against the wall, he got his legs under himself and painfully stood, tilting his head against the wall and closing his eyes as he let out a deep breath. Opening his eyes again, he tiredly stood there for another minute before painfully limping around the room, coming to the door and studying the lock.

Consistent with the metal materials, the lock was not a simple doorknob, not surprising him in the least.

Sighing, Newkirk limped back to the other side of the room, sitting back down on the floor. His stomach growled, but he tried to ignore it.

Newkirk again thought back to Fritz. He wondered when exactly the brothers' father had been killed…it seemed fairly recent. What bad luck for them to have been hunting at the same time that he and Carter were setting explosives on that bridge! _At least the bridge 'as blown up by now, _he thought. _Win one for the Allies._

Suddenly, the door opened, and Hans came in.

_Figures, _Newkirk thought. _First chore of the day, eh?_

"What is your name?" the German asked.

Newkirk didn't expect that to be the first thing out of his mouth. He gave no answer, shooting him a look of defiance instead.

"I asked you a question, and I expect an answer."

Newkirk shrugged. "Get used ta disappointment, mate."

Hans showed him what he thought of his reply by viciously kicking his wounded leg.

Despite himself, Newkirk gasped and tried to pull away.

Hans reached down and grabbed Newkirk by the lapels of his jacket, reaching into his shirt for his dog tags. The German was surprised when he didn't find any. "Where are your tags?"

A wave of relief filled Newkirk. Hogan had made the rule for them to leave their tags at the stalag before they went out on missions so they couldn't be easily identified. "I lost 'em."

"Tell me your name!"

"An' why should I?" said Newkirk.

"Because," said Hans, cruelly knocking Newkirk's head into the wall before pulling a gun out of his pocket. "I will shoot you right _now_ if you don't!"

Newkirk, eyes closed in pain from the impact, felt the barrel of the gun press against his forehead, and his heartbeat instantly sped up. "Richard Dawson," he said, thinking fast. "Sergeant. Serial number 120677."

The gun stayed there for a few more seconds before Hans removed it. "Was that so hard?" he mocked.

Newkirk gave no answer, keeping his eyes closed in an effort to avoid more abuse. He desperately hoped that Hans didn't know how to count RAF rank stripes.

"I hate you, you know," Hans said.

Newkirk almost laughed. _As if that isn't obvious?_

"Your country just can't accept that we're your masters," Hans continued. "After we win the war, we will control the world! You're allowing thousands of your people to die for nothing!" He paused. "My _father_ died for nothing."

_Uh oh, _Newkirk thought. His leg was suddenly kicked yet again.

"Look at me when I speak to you!" Hans exclaimed, jabbing the gun barrel into his forehead again.

Newkirk opened his eyes, staring at him unflinchingly, despite the gun in his face. He allowed his own anger to show…anger at the injustice being done to him. He had to literally bite his tongue to prevent a sarcastic retort…he knew that Hans wouldn't hesitate to shoot.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Hans exclaimed, baiting him.

_Ohh, yes…ya've gone 'round the bend an' belong in the bloomin' loony bin! _he thought.

"Well?" said Hans.

"No," Newkirk replied, fighting to keep his voice steady. "I 'ave nothin' ta say."

The German didn't expect that for an answer, and didn't know how to react. He pressed the gun harder against Newkirk's forehead, forcing his head back into the wall.

Newkirk continued to coolly stare at him, succeeding in masking his fear despite the flips that his heart was doing inside his chest.

Finally, Hans stood and left the room, without looking back.

Newkirk closed his eyes again and shakily let out the breath he'd been holding, the situation taking as much a toll on his nerves as his body. He slumped against the wall, relieved and shocked to have survived that confrontation. Hans truly _was_ as insane as he suspected.

For the next minute, he simply sat there and breathed, trying to get his nerves under control after that frightening scene. When he once more felt capable of standing, he shakily limped over to the doorknob and looked at it again, wishing he had his hands free so he could try to get the door open. One mistake Hans had made was that he didn't take what Newkirk had in his pockets…the Englishman always carried a lockpick, but what good was it with his hands tied behind his back? He tried to loosen the knots again, but, insane or not, Hans sure knew how to tie a rope.

Newkirk's stomach growled again and he sighed, looking up towards the window. It appeared to be a cloudy day, which further dampened his mood. Unable to see his watch, he wondered if roll call had come and gone, and what Colonel Hogan had done about the fact that he wasn't there…

TBC

How'd you like Newkirk's 'fake' name? LOL I couldn't resist!


	5. Too Early for Schnapps

"Funf! Sechs! Sieben!"

"Three."

"Acht!"

"One!"

"Neun!"

"Seven!"

Schultz closed his eyes and turned to LeBeau, who kept yelling out incorrect numbers. "What are you _doing_!" he exclaimed. "I am trying to count!"

"Just trying to help, Schultzie," LeBeau said, with a shrug.

Schultz shook his head and started over from the beginning…for the _third_ time. When he finally reached the end of the row, he noticed that one of the prisoners was covering his eyes and rubbing his forehead. "Oh, still have a headache, Newkirk?" he said, remembering what the others had told him the night before.

The Englishman nodded, head lowered.

"Go back to bed after roll call," Schultz told him. "I'm sure the Kommandant won't mind."

"Thanks, Schultz," Hogan replied for the corporal.

The guard nodded, and reported to Klink that all prisoners were accounted for.

After roll call ended, everyone went back into barracks two. "Good job, _Newkirk_," said Hogan.

RAF Corporal Turner from barracks four smiled. "Thanks!" he said, before climbing out the window and going back to his own hut.

"And good work delaying Schultz, LeBeau," Hogan told the Frenchman. "If he had seen Turner sneak over after his own lineup had been counted, we would've been sunk."

"All in a day's work," LeBeau replied, proud of himself.

"Can we go look for Newkirk now?" asked Carter, wasting no time.

"I'm going to talk to Klink first," Hogan said. "If Newkirk got turned in, he'll know."

"But if he _was_ turned in, they would've told us and gone to get him by now!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"Not if Newkirk is using a fake name," Hogan told him.

LeBeau made a face as if feeling stupid at his statement.

"Listen on the coffeepot," Hogan said. "If you hear that they _haven't_ picked up an RAF pilot in the last day, then head into the tunnel and change into civilian clothes."

They nodded and headed into his quarters to plug in the coffeepot.

Hogan quickly walked over to Klink's office, smiling at Hilda before opening the door and strolling inside.

Klink looked up, startled. "Don't you ever knock?"

"Sorry, sir," said Hogan, sitting down and reaching for the box of cigars.

Klink slammed his hand down on it before Hogan could get it open. "What do you want, Hogan? I am very busy!" he said, gesturing to a pile of paperwork.

Hogan shrugged. "Just felt like having a chat."

Klink frowned, looking at the American as if he were insane. "A _chat_?"

Hogan nodded. "Right. A friendly talk between friends."

"Friends?"

Hogan made a face. "Of course! If we can't be friends with our own Kommandant, and discuss our daily lives and problems with him, then who _can_ we talk to?"

The expression on Klink's face instantly changed and he put down his pencil. "Well…that's true. I always said that it very important to have someone to confide in! What do you wish to discuss, Hogan?"

Hogan sighed. "You, sir."

Klink blinked. "Me?"

"That's right. The men in barracks two have _me_ to come to for help, and of course, I have _you_ to go to. But who can _you_ talk to, sir, when you have things bothering _your_ brilliant mind?" Hogan looked off into the distance. "Who does Colonel Klink—Kommandant of the toughest POW camp in all of Germany—have to confide in, and discuss problems with?" he sighed again and shook his head.

Klink took on a forlorn expression. "You're right…this is not an easy job, and I often have important things burdening my mind that I just can't share!"

"That's because you have no one to share anything _with_!" said Hogan. "You can talk to Schultz, sure, but there are some things that you can't tell just _anyone_."

Klink nodded. "That's true." He reached over to his cigar case and opened it, holding it out towards Hogan, who took one and lighted it with Klink's own lighter.

"Now, Kommandant," Hogan said. "Is there anything you'd like to get off your chest? Anything happening that you consider unfair to you?"

"Unfair to _me_?" Klink said. He thought for a minute. "Just the usual! Burkhalter treats me as if I am an incompetent fool!"

Hogan shrugged as he puffed on his cigar. "Actually…maybe not, Colonel. You _are_ still here, aren't you?"

Klink frowned, confused.

Hogan gestured with the cigar. "You're still the Kommandant of Stalag Thirteen, so Burkhalter can't think you're _that_ much of a fool!"

Klink's face dawned with shock, before he smiled wide. "You're right! Burkhalter would never leave a fool in command of a LuftStalag!"

"Especially the toughest one in all of Germany."

Klink vigorously nodded, but then he sighed. "But I still don't understand why he treats me that way!"

Hogan shrugged. "I bet he treats _everyone_ that way. It's called being 'power mad'. I mean, he _is_ a General."

Klink thought for a second before nodding. "I believe you're right! Hogan, you have enlightened me! What a relief!"

Hogan suddenly sighed.

Klink frowned again. "What is it?"

"Well…considering that this is the toughest POW camp in all of Germany, and you are _not_ an incompetent fool after all, I wonder why you didn't get the new prisoner."

Klink's eyebrows rose. "New prisoner? What new prisoner?"

Hogan shrugged. "I heard a rumor that an RAF pilot was found nearby and picked up. Being that close to Stalag Thirteen, he should've been brought _here_, right?"

"Of course he should've been brought here!" Klink reached for his phone. "Hilda, connect me to Gestapo Headquarters!"

Hogan continued to smoke his cigar, trying to look indifferent.

"Major Hochstetter please!" said Klink. He waited a minute before the line was answered. "Major Hochstetter! It's Colonel Klink! Heil…what do I want? Well, I want the new prisoner that was found…" he covered the phone. "When was he found, Hogan?"

"Uh, yesterday."

"Yesterday! Yes, that's what I said, the new RAF prisoner that was found yesterday. What was that? Are you sure? And how do I know that you didn't send him somewhere else? Oh. Yes sir. Heil—" he paused when he heard a 'click'.

"What did he say?" Hogan asked.

"He told me it's too early to drink schnapps!" Klink told him, hanging up the phone. "Hogan, there _is_ no new prisoner! Who started this rumor?"

Hogan shook his head. "The prisoners heard some of the guards saying it. They must've made it up to bother us." With a sigh, he stood. "Oh well. I enjoyed our chat, Kommandant! We must do this again sometime!"

Klink, remembering how Hogan had eased his mind about Burkhalter, nodded. "Yes, we must!"

Hogan saluted on his way towards the door, and Klink saluted back. Once out of the office, he high-tailed it back to the barracks just as the others were going into the tunnel.

"The Gestapo doesn't have Newkirk!" Carter said, relieved.

"But that isn't necessarily _good_ news," said LeBeau.

Hogan sighed; LeBeau was right; if the Gestapo didn't have him, then where on earth was he? "Let's just go."

They quickly went into the tunnel and changed into civilian clothes, before quickly climbing up the stump and dashing off.

Hogan tried to figure out where else they could look. The route they'd taken from following the bloodstains seemed wrong…they should have already found him if Newkirk had really gone in that direction. Not to mention it didn't make sense for Newkirk to be heading _away_ from the camp…unless he'd had to run that way to get away from the shooter. Either way, it still didn't explain wherever he was _now_.

Nevertheless, they went back in the direction of the destroyed bridge, everyone lost in their thoughts. Once they reached the place that they'd found the first bloodstains, they stopped and looked around.

"We need to figure out the exact place where the bloodstains end," said Hogan.

Everyone nodded, though they knew it'd be hard considering that time had passed and the blood had dried.

Eventually, they came to the spot where Kinch stopped. "I think it was somewhere around here, Colonel."

Hogan crouched for a better look, before pointing. "There?"

Carter knelt. "Yeah," he sighed. "There's blood right here."

They all stood and looked around, searching for any clue that would tell them where Newkirk had gone from there.

"I think we should split up," Carter said.

Hogan shook his head with a sigh. "With someone going around the woods shooting at people, I think we'd be safer together." He walked a few feet to the left, spotting some thinning of the woods. "Hey, there's a path over here. Let's go this way."

Everyone followed, with Carter running ahead. Their spirits lifted a little, thinking that that might finally find their friend…

But once again, they had all gone in the wrong direction.

TBC


	6. Desperate Measures

A sudden noise startled Newkirk out of a light doze. Leaning uncomfortably against the wall, he shifted his position with a groan, his body aching terribly from the abuse that he'd suffered since being abducted. And just _what_ did Hans plan to do with him? No members of the Gestapo had come to pick him up…

Opening his eyes, he found Fritz crouching in front of him. He was immensely glad that it wasn't Hans, and the relief must've show on his face, because the young man looked concerned.

"Are you all right?" Fritz asked.

Newkirk shifted his position again. "I'm _alive_."

Fritz looked away at that.

"What can I do for ya, mate?" Newkirk asked.

Fritz sighed with a shrug. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I'd be a lot better if I could get outta 'ere," Newkirk said. "Any chance o' that?"

Fritz shook his head. "Hans will kill me if I set you free!"

Newkirk sighed. "Why do ya stay 'ere with 'im, Fritz?"

"I have nowhere else to go, and why would I, anyway? He's a good brother."

"A good brother who also 'appens ta torture innocent people," said Newkirk, sarcastically.

Fritz sighed again. "I don't like what he does."

Newkirk studied the young man. "What if I told ya that ya didn't 'ave ta stay 'ere?"

"What do you mean?"

"If ya let me go, I'll take ya with me."

Fritz's eyes widened. "You would? Where?"

Newkirk looked past the door, making sure that Hans was nowhere in sight. "I can't tell ya."

"That how do I know it's true?"

Newkirk sighed. "I promise ya, it is. Ya won't 'ave ta deal with this ever again."

Fritz said nothing, staring at Newkirk as if hoping against hope that it was possible. He stood and slowly walked to the other side of the room, as if thinking.

"Come on," said Newkirk. "I doubt that ya brother plans ta keep me 'ere forever. I either go free, escape, or end up a prisoner of the Gestapo. An' since I 'ave plans for tonight, I think 'go free' is the most appealin' choice…"

Fritz sighed and shook his head, looking like he knew something that he didn't want to tell Newkirk.

"Look, Fritz, ya brother demanded that I tell 'im me name; obviously ta give ta the Gestapo. Do ya want me ta end up there, ta probably be tortured even worse?"

Fritz shook his head.

Newkirk shifted his position again, pushing himself away from the wall. "Then untie me," he said. "Before me ruddy 'ands fall off."

Fritz looked at Newkirk's arms, brutally pulled back and tied at the wrists. There was blood on the rope, obviously from the Englishman's attempts to free himself. Witnessing Hans' cruelty, combined with grief at losing his father and knowing that his brother was mentally unstable, brought tears to Fritz's eyes. "I caaaan't!" he whined. "I want to, but I can't!"

"Please?" Newkirk said.

That one simple word seemed to affect Fritz even more, and he covered his eyes with one hand. "I don't _want_ him to kill you, but I _can't_ let you go! Don't you understand?!" A tear rolled down his cheek, and he turned and ran out the door.

Newkirk sighed for the umpteenth time. He felt sorry for upsetting the young man, but what could he do? He had to get _out_ of there! _Wait a bloody minute, _he thought. _Fritz doesn't want Hans ta __kill__ me? Did 'e say 'e plans ta __kill__ me?_

In desperation, Newkirk struggled with the rope that so tightly tied his wrists together. He had a tiny bit of room, but couldn't see what he was doing. He suddenly wished that he was as short as LeBeau; if he was, he'd probably be able to pull his body through his arms and end up with his hands in front of himself. _I might as well try,_ he thought. _Desperate times call for desperate measures!_

Newkirk took a deep breath and let it out, trying to relax his muscles. It wasn't easy, with the tension and fear that he inwardly felt. He took a few more breaths to try to calm his racing heart, before trying to pull his arms further down his body. It was just as hard as he expected, but at least he knew that being thin gave him an advantage. Finally, he found himself sitting on his aching wrists, and he took another breath and tried to shimmy his body through.

The muscles in his shoulders and arms were screaming at him, being stretched to their limit. He knew that his legs were too long, and this would probably not work, but desperation fueled him, to the point that he didn't weigh the possible consequences…

Suddenly, he heard a loud *pop*, and explosive agony filled his left shoulder, taking him completely by surprise. He couldn't prevent a cry of pain and tipped over, landing on his left side, causing an incredible stab of pain to lace through his arm.

Gasping in agony, Newkirk tried to struggle onto his other side. He somehow managed, and realized that his shoulder was dislocated. "Bloody 'ell!" he shakily exclaimed, stunned at what he'd accidentally done to himself. Unable to move, he laid there for a few minutes, the pain and shock making his body tremble, before he realized that an out-of-joint shoulder would actually make it possible to get his hands in front of himself…if he could handle the pain.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to struggle upright, and without giving himself a chance to change his mind, he tried to pull his legs through his arms, squeezing his eyes shut tightly and sucking in a gasp as he forced his dislocated shoulder to cooperate. He couldn't stop the pained sounds that passed his lips, and when he actually succeeded in getting his legs through, he collapsed onto his back, chest heaving.

His head swam for a minute as his body tried to adjust. The sensation of pins and needles filled both arms as the blood was now better able to circulate. Sweat dripped down his face from the painful exertion, and he wanted nothing better than to lie there for a year, but he knew that he had to quickly deal with his shoulder and get _out_ of there!

Slowly, Newkirk sat up and looked down at his wrists. They looked awful…red-rimmed and bloody from trying to free himself. He closed his eyes again as an excruciating stab of pain laced through his shoulder, and he bit his lip to avoid groaning. Reopening his eyes a moment later, he realized that he needed to pop his shoulder back in before he could try getting the rope off his wrists…and there was only one way to do it.

Scooting closer to the wall, Newkirk rested against it for a minute before getting to his knees, and, after inwardly praying that his idea would work, he slammed his shoulder against the wall with all the force that he could muster.

The pain that resulted was nothing short of blinding, and when Newkirk opened his eyes again, he found himself laying flat on the floor without remembering falling. Gingerly, he sat himself up against the wall and tried to move his left arm. It obeyed him, however painfully, and he was immensely relieved that he'd actually succeeded. He looked down at his wrists again, and tried to maneuver the knot into a position where he could grab it in his fingers…but quickly found that he couldn't. Now that his arms were in front of himself, his fingers were on the _inside_ of his hands, making any effort to grab the knot impossible.

In despair, he dropped his hands back into his lap and let his head fall back against the wall. _No! _he thought. _After all this, I can't reach the bloody knot?! _Before he chose to lose his mind, he reached up his hands and tried to get the lockpick out of the right front pocket of his jacket. His injured shoulder screamed in pain from the motion, but he somehow managed and struggled to his feet, limping over to the door and kneeling before it.

Having no choice but to use both hands, he stuck the tiny instrument into the lock and gently moved it around, expertly feeling for the locking mechanism. He heard a sudden click, but the door unexpectedly moved inward without his touching it.

Standing in the doorway was Hans.

"What are you doing?!" the German roared. He saw that Newkirk's arms were now in front of himself, and he looked at the door, seeing the lockpick sticking out of it. "Trying to escape, are you!"

Newkirk couldn't help it. "Well what d'ya expect?!"

In answer, Hans pulled the lockpick out of the door, and before Newkirk had a chance to move, Hans had grabbed him by his jacket and stabbed the lockpick into his left shoulder.

The Englishman gave a cry of pain, having not expected that.

Hans yanked the lockpick back out, not about to leave it for Newkirk to try using again. He smirked when his prisoner slumped in his hold, and he let go, letting him fall to the floor. Just for fun, he kicked Newkirk's wounded leg again, relishing the cry of pain that met his ears. "Death will be the only way that you'll ever escape _me_!" Hans said, before turning and leaving the room.

Newkirk lay unmoving on the floor, his already injured shoulder now bleeding. "Not if Colonel 'ogan can 'elp it," he whispered aloud, before his body decided to shut itself down and he passed out.

TBC


	7. Still Looking

"Everybody! Stop!" LeBeau suddenly whispered.

The four Heroes obeyed, crouching as they listened. The faint sound of rustling and snapping twigs could be heard.

"Newkirk!" Carter exclaimed, without thinking. "Is that you?"

Hogan grabbed him by the head and covered his mouth. "Carter!" he whisper-hissed. He felt the sergeant flinch, and kept his hand over his mouth as they waited to see what was making all the noise.

A minute later, a deer came into view, munching on leaves. Everyone stood again, and Hogan released Carter.

"Colonel," Kinch suddenly said. "I just had a terrible thought."

"I think I have the _same_ one," Hogan replied.

"What's that?" LeBeau asked.

"What if the gunshots came from a hunter," Kinch said. "And the blood from his dinner."

"That would be a _good_ thing!" said Carter. "It would mean that Newkirk is okay!"

"Oh yeah? Then where _is_ he?" Hogan asked.

Carter's face fell.

Hogan sighed and glanced around their location. "Come on."

Everyone followed, continuing to look.

"You don't think we can't find Newkirk because he took this chance to escape, do you?" Carter suddenly asked.

Everyone looked at him, ready to protest, but they were all so desperate to come up with an explanation for his disappearance, that they uncharacteristically considered it for a minute.

LeBeau shook his head. "And leave his deck of cards behind? Never."

"He could always get a _new_ deck…" said Carter, pessimistically.

"No," said Hogan, with complete conviction. "Newkirk wouldn't just disappear and leave us all hanging like this. He wouldn't."

"Yeah," said Carter, feeling better to hear Colonel Hogan say it. "He couldn't leave us without our safecracker."

"Or forger," said Kinch.

"Or his pickpocking skill."

"Or his great German impersonating."

"Or his old lady act."

"Or his _complaining_."

Carter sighed, sadly, growing pessimistic again. "I'm gonna miss him," he said, sounding choked-up.

Hogan stopped walking and looked at them as if they were all insane. "He didn't escape! Be quiet before someone hears you!"

Everyone obeyed.

"If that blood _did_ come from a hunted animal," Kinch whispered to Hogan. "That really changes things."

"I know…we might be looking in the wrong place," Hogan said, with a sigh. "If only we had some kind of clue! Carter?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell us again what happened yesterday."

Carter shook his head. "Newkirk and I split up to set the bombs. I went to our rendezvous spot and waited for him, but he never showed up. I heard three gunshots and looked for him for a while before going back to camp for help." He shook his head. "That's it."

"Did you see him at all after you split up?"

Carter shook his head. "We were at one side of the bridge together, and I stayed on that side while Newkirk ran to the other side."

"So we don't even know if Newkirk managed to set the dynamite!" said LeBeau.

"Yes we do," Carter said. "When the bridge blew, it went up on both sides."

The others nodded.

"Good point," said Hogan. "So something happened to Newkirk _after_ he set the bombs."

Everyone was quiet for a minute, before Kinch spoke. "I hate to be the one to say this, but maybe we should go back to the bridge and look around?"

They all knew what he meant: search the rubble. No one answered at first. The only sound was a sniff from Carter.

"Kinch," he said, sadly. "How can you say something like that?"

The radioman put a hand on Carter's shoulder. "I wish I didn't have to, buddy."

Hogan wasn't sure what to say for a few seconds. "Look, we'll keep looking from here for now. If we haven't found him by the time we have to get back to camp, we'll go back to the bridge after roll call."

Everyone nodded, sadly.

Hogan started walking again, with a sigh. If they really had lost Newkirk, life would be forever changed for all of them.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A stab of pain brought Newkirk to consciousness, and he opened his eyes with a groan. The sight of a face above him made him startle violently, which sent even more pain through his abused body. It took him a second to recognize the face. "Fritz?"

The young man nodded. "Are you okay?"

Newkirk blinked. "What 'appened?"

"It looks like Hans stabbed you!"

Newkirk suddenly remembered what had occured. He winced at another wave of pain, and realized that Fritz was wrapping a bandage around his shoulder, on top of his jacket. "That's right," he said, blinking groggily. "I remember...'e used me lockpick."

Fritz looked at him in shock. "Lockpick? You tried to break out of here?"

Newkirk nodded, closing his eyes again.

"How did your arms get tied in front?" Fritz asked.

Newkirk grimaced. "A trick that I don't think I'll ever try again."

"Why not? It worked."

Newkirk winced again, trying to sit up. His shoulder was throbbing like there was no tomorrow. "It did, but not without consequences, mate."

Fritz helped him sit up and pulled him over to the wall, leaning him against it. He looked behind himself before pulling something out of his pocket. "Here," he whispered. "I brought you some water."

Newkirk's eyes popped open when he heard that. Held before his face was a small flask, and he quickly reached up his hands to grab it, but his formerly-dislocated-and-now-stabbed shoulder vehemently protested.

Fritz saw the problem, and brought the flask to his lips, holding it while Newkirk drank.

The water tasted wonderful to Newkirk's parched throat, and he wished that it wouldn't end. When it ran out, Fritz pulled the flask away. "Better?"

Newkirk licked his lips, taking a deep breath. "Ya 'ave no idea 'ow grateful I am for that, mate."

Fritz smiled. "You're welcome. Don't let Hans know, please!"

Newkirk shook his head. "I won't."

"I wanted to bring you some food too, but Hans was watching me…I was lucky to sneak the water out…"

"It's okay, mate," Newkirk told him, trying to shift his position.

Fritz reached over and helped.

Newkirk took a deep breath and let it out noisily. "Does your brother plan ta kill me?" he asked.

Fritz looked away. "I don't know."

"Yes ya do."

Fritz agitatedly ran a hand through his hair before shaking his head. "I won't let him!"

Newkirk sighed. "So that _is_ the plan, then? 'e wants ta kill me rather than turn me over ta the Gestapo?"

Tears came to Fritz's eyes and he didn't speak for a moment. "He wants revenge for our father's death," he finally said.

"Revenge? On an innocent man?" Newkirk exclaimed. Suddenly, his vision unexpectedly tilted to the right, and he inhaled sharply, closing his eyes.

Fritz was taken by surprise when Newkirk's head suddenly drooped. "Hey," he said, grabbing the Englishman's arm. "Are you all right?"

Newkirk blinked his eyes open again, feeling terribly lightheaded. He dizzily turned his head to look at his left shoulder, seeing that blood had soaked through the bandage.

Fritz grew alarmed when he saw how pale Newkirk had suddenly become. "Lie down!" he said, urgently. He helped Newkirk into a prone position on the floor, hovering over him worriedly. "Are you all right?" he asked yet again.

Newkirk took a deep breath, feeling just as dizzy despite no longer being upright. He suddenly realized that his head was throbbing almost as badly as his shoulder, and his body suddenly felt like it was trying to float away. It was an odd feeling, losing consciousness…something that he'd probably be quite familiar with before all this was over…

Just before darkness took him, he realized that he'd never answered Fritz.

TBC


	8. The Search is Put on Hold

It was a solemn group of men who returned to Stalag Thirteen that night. No trace of Newkirk had been found, which meant that they'd be searching the rubble of the destroyed bridge next. The only sound was an occasional sniff from Carter, and whispered attempts at comfort from LeBeau.

Hogan inwardly sighed, just as upset as his men. Newkirk was his top man…the Englishman had a wide variety of talents that had immensely helped in the majority of their missions. Without him, they would be sorely lacking…nevermind the fact that Newkirk would be considered Stalag Thirteen's first 'escape'.

Entering the tunnel, they went up into the barracks and quickly searched out Corporal Turner, who would have to reprise his Newkirk role once again. After being counted in his own barracks lineup, he dashed towards barracks two and stood in Newkirk's place as the prisoners once again distracted Schultz. Kinch was holding Newkirk's topcoat, and Turner quickly donned it and pulled up the collar, using it to hide as much of his face as possible.

The ruse fooled the Germans—it being dark—and once roll call ended, they quickly went back inside and Carter hit the lever to raise the bunk.

"Carter," said Hogan. He'd realized something terrible on the way back, and didn't know how to tell the others.

"What?"

"We can't search the rubble tonight."

Carter stared at him like a deer in the headlights. "What?! Why?!"

"It's dark, mon ami," said LeBeau, obviously having realized the same thing. "How are we supposed to see?"

Carter sputtered, the thought never having entered his mind.

Hogan sighed and sat at their table. He felt stupid to have not thought of the dark when they planned to go back after roll call. He knew that it was because he—and the others—were exhausted. "We should sleep tonight, anyway."

"Sleep?!" Carter exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air. "How can you _sleep_?! Newkirk might be _dead_ out there!"

"If he is, then it's already too late," Kinch said, softly.

Carter swallowed. "He…but he could be alive, too…" he said, voice trembling.

Hogan stood and went over to his sergeant, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Andrew…we searched all last night without sleeping. We've all been awake since yesterday morning. How are we supposed to find him if we can't even keep our eyes open?"

Carter said nothing, but Hogan could feel him shaking.

"We might miss something, like this," LeBeau said, agreeing with Hogan despite feeling the same way as Carter.

Carter sniffed again. He knew that they were right…he was so tired that his head felt full of cotton.

Everyone watched him, waiting for him to speak.

"It's cold outside," Carter finally whispered, his throat feeling choked. "Newkirk doesn't…doesn't have his coat."

Kinch looked down at the blue topcoat that he was still holding, and his expression changed, as if he was seeing it for the first time. _This might be the only real thing we have left of him, _he thought. Without hesitation, he walked over to Carter and handed it to him.

The American sergeant took it, with tears sliding down his cheeks. Without a word, he sat down on his bunk and buried his face in it.

Everyone surrounded him, and until lights-out was called, the occupants of Barracks Two mourned their friend.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Coming out of unconsciousness was almost as bizarre as losing it. Newkirk groaned from the pain that he felt throughout his body, momentarily forgetting where he was and what was wrong with him. The worst of the pain seemed to be coming from his left shoulder, with his head and right leg coming in second. His ribs ached and his wrists stung. _What'd I get meself into this time? _he wondered. He knew that he should open his eyes and find out, but he was afraid to know.

Finally, he did, and his memory returned with sight of the metal walls. _Oh, blimey…am I ever gonna get outta 'ere?_ he thought.

A sudden noise sounded, and predictably, the door opened, with Hans strolling inside.

"Oh, not _you_ again," Newkirk mumbled, before he could stop himself. He closed his eyes and tensed his body, expecting to be kicked, but nothing happened. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes, only to startle when he found Hans' face only a foot away.

"I've killed others, you know," the German told him.

"I'm not surprised," Newkirk answered.

"I mean others like _you_."

A rock abruptly grew in Newkirk's stomach. "Like me?" he said, suddenly feeling breathless.

Hans nodded. "Other British pilots that I came across." He sounded nonchalant, as if he were discussing the weather. "Only a few, but I killed them, nonetheless. I would've killed you too the instant I found you, if Fritz hadn't stopped me. He doesn't know what I've done."

Newkirk said nothing, quietly staring.

Hans shrugged. "I figured _this_ time, I'd do something different." He smiled. "Make it last a while first."

Newkirk shook his head, in shock. "But 'ow could ya do that? Those men did nothin' ta deserve it!"

Hans grabbed him by his jacket and yanked him closer. "What they did to me was survive their planes going down! You should _all_ die!"

Newkirk's shoulder vehemently protested Hans' treatment. "This is crazy! Ya can't hate an entire race just because ya father was a war casualty! War is war! _No one_ likes it!"

Hans tossed Newkirk down again, purposely throwing him into the wall.

Newkirk's head swam dizzily; he probably had three bumps on it by now. He closed his eyes with a wince, wondering how long this would continue before he was rescued…or shot by this lunatic.

"What did you say?"

Newkirk didn't realize he'd said anything aloud. He was suddenly grabbed again, more roughly this time, and couldn't stop a cry of pain.

"A lunatic, am I?" Hans shouted, cruelly shaking him. Abruptly, he laughed. "You're probably right! And you and your fellow Englanders are the _reason_!"

"No we're not," Newkirk protested, feebly. "Everyone 'as control over their own actions. Ya should spend ya time takin' care o' Fritz the right way instead o' teachin' 'im ta 'ate."

It took a second for Hans to decipher Newkirk's accent, and he grew angry at his words and tossed Newkirk to the floor again, this time ensuring that he landed on his injured shoulder. "By the time I'm done with you, _you_ will have learned to hate!" he said, before leaving.

Newkirk sighed, painfully turning himself onto his back. His eyes immediately went to the small window high up the wall, and he saw that it was now dark outside. _Another night in this place, _he thought, with a sigh. He wondered what on earth was taking his friends so long to find him.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_"Andrew? Andrew!"_

_"Newkirk?! Where are you?"_

_"Over 'ere!"_

_Carter ran towards the sound of his friend's voice, desperately trying to reach him. It seemed like he ran forever before he spotted his friend sitting on the ground, leaning against a tree. He threw himself to his knees and grabbed Newkirk's arm. "Quick, let's go!"_

_"I can't."_

_Carter frowned. "Why not?"_

_Newkirk pointed, and Carter saw a man with a rifle, shooting at a deer that hopped around him and somehow managed to avoid every bullet. "That bloke shot me while huntin' that deer."_

_Carter stared in horror when blood suddenly appeared where it wasn't before, covering his friend's shirt. "I'll help you! Let's go!"_

_"I don't think I can walk…"_

_Carter pulled one of Newkirk's arms around his shoulders. "Just lean on me, I'll get you home!" He pulled his friend to his feet and practically dragged him back towards the stalag._

_After only a few minutes, the Englishman started gasping. "Stop," he said, sliding out of the American's grasp._

_Carter did, helping his friend sit down against another tree._

_"Go on without me," Newkirk whispered._

_Carter blinked. "What?!"  
_

_"I'm not…gonna make it…mate. Just go back."_

_"I can't leave you! Come on, let's go!" He tried to pull his friend to his feet again, but Newkirk didn't let him._

_"It's…too late, Andrew. Thanks for…tryin'…ta save me." With that, Newkirk's eyes closed._

_A thrill of fear shot through Carter's chest. "Newkirk? No! Open your eyes! Newkirk! Peter!"_

With a gasp, Carter came awake, finding tears sliding down his cheeks. His heart was beating a mile a minute, and it took a few minutes to catch his breath. He realized that it was still dark outside and he buried his face in his pillow, knowing that he'd never fall back to sleep that night…

TBC  
*sniff* What a terrible dream to give Carter! Go on, you can tell me so! LOL


	9. Things Are Looking Up

The boys of Barracks Two were awake long before roll call. Colonel Hogan came out of his quarters and immediately noticed that Carter's bunk was empty. He didn't see him anywhere in the room, and peeked out the door, finding him sitting on the bench. The American sergeant was staring into space, and didn't even hear the colonel when he called his name.

Sighing, Hogan closed the door, nodding at LeBeau, who was making coffee. Each man in the barracks was awake…even the ones who weren't part of Hogan's team. _Everyone's worried about Newkirk, _he knew_. _He sighed again, accepting the cup from LeBeau.

The little Frenchman walked out the door and dragged Carter back in, forcing him to sit at the table and shoving a mug into his hands…hands that Hogan could see were shaking.

"Carter?" he said, concerned.

Carter sighed and looked at him. His face was pale from worry and grief. "I had a…a dream," he whispered.

No one asked what it was about.

Everyone sat quietly until Schultz came to get them, and they all filed out the door. Corporal Turner again pretended to be Newkirk, and roll call lasted much shorter than usual, as no one was up to the usual joking.

"Kinch," said Hogan, as they walked back into the barracks. "I want to send a message to London before we leave, so get the radio ready."

"Right, Colonel," he said, before heading into the tunnel.

Everyone followed, watching as Hogan picked up the microphone, waiting for Kinch to signal him when ready.

"Papa Bear to Mama Bear, come in Mama Bear."

"Mama Bear here, over."

Hogan sighed. "Regret to report blue cub missing from den," he said, knowing that they'd connect 'blue' with Newkirk's RAF uniform color. "Request any information, over."

Silence. Everyone fidgeted until the radio came alive again.

"Mama Bear to Papa Bear; we've received no information on missing cub. We will check our sources and get back to you, over."

Hogan looked at his watch. "Group will be searching for missing cub. Please relay next message at 1800 hours. Over."

"Will do, Papa Bear. Out."

"That was a good idea, Colonel!" Carter said, finally looking slightly alive. "Maybe they'll hear something."

"I hope so, if _we_ don't find Newkirk first," Hogan said, putting down the microphone.

Everyone quickly headed for the tunnel ladder, and climbed up through the stump. Two miles later found them at the destroyed bridge, and everyone stood still, afraid to go any further.

Wordlessly, Hogan led them to the end of the bridge where Newkirk had set his explosives, and they began the heartbreaking task of searching the rubble.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Hey…hey? Wake up!"

A sound filtered into Newkirk's consciousness, and he eventually realized that it was someone's voice. He opened his eyes slowly, finding Fritz bending over him.

"Are you awake?" the German boy asked.

The way Newkirk felt, he hoped he wasn't. He blinked his eyes a few times, feeling disconnected with reality. His shoulder was throbbing with seemingly endless agony, his head was pounding, and his leg was fiercely aching. It didn't end there, either…his ribs were sore, his wrists were stinging as if they'd been burned, and it felt like he had bruises all over his body.

"Hey…what's your name, anyway?" Fritz asked.

The question took some of the fog away from his brain, and he remembered that he'd given Hans a fake name. "Dawson," he whispered, closing his eyes again. A hand squeezed his arm, and he reopened them.

"Listen," Fritz whispered. "You must've had other guys with you, right? Any idea where they might be?"

Newkirk frowned, confused. "Why?"

Fritz looked towards the door for a second before looking back at him. "I want to get you out of here. I can't set you free, but I can go find help!"

Newkirk woke up fully when he heard _that_. He tried to sit up, but his body sorely betrayed him, feeling terribly weak.

Fritz got an arm under him and gently sat him up, leaning him against the wall.

"I 'ave friends…four of 'em," Newkirk told him, his eyes trying to close against his will. "They're lookin' for me."

"Where should I go?" Fritz asked.

Newkirk sighed. "I dunno about this, Fritz…it's too dangerous."

"Hans is sending me into town to pick up a few things, he won't know what I'm _really_ doing!"

"If he finds out, 'e'll kill ya," Newkirk continued.

Fritz looked towards the door again. "Can I still come with you?"

Newkirk nodded. "Of course, mate."

Fritz shrugged. "Then he can't hurt me."

Newkirk smiled. "Do ya know where Stalag Thirteen is?" he asked.

Fritz nodded.

"Go in that direction. They'll probably find ya before ya find _them_. They'll be suspicious, so tell 'em that ya comin' with me so we can get ya out of Germany."

Fritz nodded. "Is there a certain man I should speak to?"

Newkirk nodded. "Ask for the Colonel."

Fritz smiled. "Okay…I'll leave as soon as I can." He started to stand, but Newkirk reached out his hands and grabbed his arm.

"Thanks, Fritz."

The German boy smiled, and left the room.

Newkirk sighed and closed his eyes again. _Well, things are finally lookin' up, _he thought._ I just 'ope the lad doesn't get 'imself into any trouble…_

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hours passed without Colonel Hogan and the others finding any trace of Newkirk within the rubble of the bridge.

Carter was trying to be optimistic. Not finding Newkirk meant that he could still be alive somewhere…but if so, then where was he, and what in the world had happened to him? He wondered if the gunshots were a connection, or a simple coincidence. But what about his dream? In it, Newkirk had been shot, and died. Was his body laying somewhere in the woods, and they simply hadn't come across it yet?

"Oh, no!"

Hogan, Kinch, and LeBeau dashed over when they heard Carter's words, terrified at what they would find. They found Carter standing there, staring into space.

"What is it?" Hogan asked.

"What if some wild animal found Newkirk, and dragged him off somewhere!"

Everyone blinked.

"What?" said LeBeau.

"I dreamed that someone shot him and he…died," said Carter. "What if he was laying in the woods somewhere, and a wild animal dragged him off?"

Hogan sighed. He couldn't blame Carter's mind for running rampant…he also knew that what Carter mentioned wasn't out of the question. "If we don't find him here, then all we can do is keep looking, Carter."

The American sergeant sighed.

Hogan laid a hand on his shoulder for a minute, before they all went back to their search.

TBC


	10. Fritz, Meet Colonel Hogan

Fritz walked out the front door, heading down the road that would lead him to town. He figured Hans wasn't watching, but he made sure that he was out of sight before he took a sudden detour into the woods. He started to run, hoping that 'Dawson' was correct and his friends were looking for him.

Eventually, he could see that the woods were thinning, and he ran out into a clearing. He stopped for a minute, sitting on a nearby boulder to catch his breath. He wasn't prepared at all for what happened next.

"Halt!" he heard. "Wer geht es?"

His heart leaping into his throat, Fritz didn't move, and said nothing.

"Who else is with you?" the voice shouted in English this time, the speaker perhaps thinking he didn't speak German.

"No one!" Fritz exclaimed. "I'm alone…going into town for some supplies."

A few seconds later, four men holding guns came out from around the rubble from the destroyed bridge. He noticed that one of them was wearing an officer's hat from the American military. Excitedly, he smiled. "Are you the Colonel?"

Hogan stopped, glancing at the others. "Who wants to know?"

"Are you missing a British pilot?"

One of the other men gasped and nearly dropped his gun.

That was all the proof that Fritz needed. "I know where he is! He sent me to find you so you can rescue him!"

"Colonel!" Carter gasped.

Hogan wanted to believe the boy, but he knew that it could be a trap. "Where is he?" he asked, still pointing his gun.

"At my farmhouse," said Fritz. "My brother and I found him in the woods, and…my brother took him prisoner. You have to rescue him fast, before Hans kills him!"

Hogan looked at his men, seeing the desperate looks on their faces. "Why would you help him?" he asked.

"I don't want him to die! He said that I can go with you, that you could get me out of Germany."

Hogan put his gun away when he heard that, all suspicion gone. "Take us to him."

"Colonel," said Kinch. "What about roll call?"

Everyone looked at their watches, their hearts sinking into their stomachs.

"Roll call?" said Fritz. "You mean…you're escaped prisoners?" He blinked, confused. "And you're going _back_ for roll call?!"

"I'll explain later," Hogan said. He sighed. "Roll call's in an hour and a half. We have to figure out a way to cancel it."

"Can we think while we walk?!" Carter blurted, nervously. He was so overjoyed to hear that his friend was alive, that his head was spinning.

"This way," Fritz said. He ran off into the woods again, and they quickly followed.

"I don't suppose you know where we can make a phone call along the way?" Hogan asked.

"We have a phone in the house, but with Hans there…"

"How about a radio?" Kinch said.

"We have one in my father's old staff car."

Hogan looked at him, shocked. "Staff car?! Who's your father?"

"He's…dead," Fritz told him. "Few months ago."

They were quiet for a minute, before Hogan asked, "Is Newkirk injured?"

"Newkirk?" Fritz asked. "He said his name is 'Dawson'."

"Fake name," Hogan said.

"My brother and I were in the woods, trying to shoot a deer. One of our bullets grazed Newkirk's leg."

Carter almost tripped when he heard that, in shock that their speculations and his resulting dream had been correct.

"My brother wanted to kill him…but I didn't let him."

"Why?!" LeBeau exclaimed.

Fritz stopped running, having not fully gotten his breath back from earlier. "Our father…was killed…in a fight…against the British," he gasped.

Everyone watched him for a minute, itching to continue.

"Sorry," Fritz said. "I…ran…the whole…way."

Hogan nodded, understanding. "So your brother took him to your farmhouse?"

Fritz nodded, closing his eyes. "Hans is so cruel," he said. "Newkirk needs help."

"What did he do to him?!" Carter exclaimed, nearly bouncing with anxiety.

Fritz was afraid to tell, thinking that they might get mad at _him_. "I'm not quite sure," he lied. "He _is_ injured though, badly…"

Without another word, Carter ran off. It was slightly funny, since he didn't know where he was supposed to be going.

Everyone ran after him, with Fritz taking the lead. It took almost an hour before he stopped, pointing. "The house is through that clearing."

Hogan walked further, looking through the trees. There was a road with the house on the other side. "Where is he holding Newkirk?"

"Inside a bomb shelter in the cellar. It has metal walls."

"Figures."

"There's a window."

"Where?" Carter asked.

Fritz sighed. "I don't how we should do this…if Hans looks out, he'll see you crossing the road." He sighed, looking up at the sky. "We should let it get a little darker."

Hogan nodded. "Where's the radio?"

Fritz pointed towards the back of the house. "The car is parked over there."

Hogan glanced at his watch. "We still have a half-hour." He looked at Kinch. "It's dark enough that Hans shouldn't be able to see _you_ very well. Sneak over there and contact Klink, _General Burkhalter_."

Kinch smiled and slinked away.

"General Burkhalter?!" said Fritz. "He doesn't look German to _me_!"

Everyone chuckled.

"He's not," said Hogan. "But he can _imitate_ him pretty well!"

Kinch made his way across the street and around the back of the house, quickly opening the car door and climbing in. He picked up the radio and hit the button to turn it on, before saying, "Headquarters? This is General Burkhalter. Patch me through to Stalag Thirteen." As the person on the other end complied, Kinch couldn't help but chuckle. Burkhalter's voice was the one he most enjoyed imitating…because it sounded so darn funny.

"Good evening, General Burkhalter!" he suddenly heard Klink's voice exclaim. "I was just discussing you with Sgt. Schultz, saying how long it's been since we saw you, and how delighted we'd be if—"

"Is that so?" said Kinch. "Well, it looks like you'll soon get your wish. I vant you to leave Stalag Thirteen right now and go to zee Hofbrau. Once you arrive, I vant you to sit at the bar and vait for someone to arrive with a package."

There was a confused pause on the other end. "A package?"

"That's right. Once you receive it, I want you to being it to me at Headquarters. Do not open it! Do you understand, Klink?"

"Yes, General!"

"I vant you to leave RIGHT NOW!" Kinch exclaimed. "Go to zee Hofbrau, sit at zee bar and vait. Do you have that, Klink?"

"Yes, General, I will leave as soon as I hang up the phone! And let me say, sir, that I am very glad—"

Kinch quickly shut off the radio. Not just because it was what Burkhalter _usually_ did…but because he was in danger of laughing in Klink's ear. He put the radio down and left the car, quickly running back around the house and across the street.

"How'd it go?" Hogan asked.

Kinch was still smiling. "Perfect. Klink will be out of the Stalag for hours!"

"Good job." Hogan looked towards the house again. "I think it's dark enough. Let's go."

With Fritz in the lead, they quickly ran across the street. They followed him over to a window, and could see that there was a light on inside the room. Fritz motioned for them to stay back, and he crept to the window and carefully looked in.

What he saw sent his heart into his throat.

TBC

OMG that has to be my meanest cliffhanger ever. LOL! The quicker I get reviews, the sooner you'll get to see what happened, so hit that button and tell me how rotten I am for doing this to you! ROTFL!!


	11. No Time to Spare

Newkirk eventually passed out again after talking to Fritz, waking some hours later and simply lying in a motionless heap. His entire body ached from top to bottom, and he felt as if he were starving to death. He wished that Fritz had been able to give him some more water before he'd gone, but nothing could be done about that now.

He wondered where Fritz was at that very moment, and whether he'd come across Colonel Hogan and the others.

With a sigh, Newkirk tried to shift his position, wincing from the pain and quickly giving up. Closing his eyes again, he tried to go to sleep, hoping that the next time he woke up; it would be to the face of one of his friends. _If only I could 'ave that kinda luck,_ he thought.

But just as he suspected, it was not meant to be.

The door suddenly opened and Hans walked in, with an evil smirk on his face. He walked over to Newkirk and crouched down in front of him. "I sent Fritz to town. He'll be gone for a while." He said it with a sinister smile.

_Well, at least I know the lad is out lookin' for the Colonel,_ Newkirk thought. "An' ya decided ta spend some quality time with me? How nice," he replied, sarcastically.

Hans shook his head, looking amused. "So, why did you do it?" he asked.

Newkirk frowned. "Do what?"

The amused expression vanished. "Kill my father."

Newkirk would've rolled his eyes if he had the strength. "I didn't."

"Yes you did."

"Oh for goodness sake…when an' where did it 'appen?"

"In Himmelstadt, three months ago."

"Ah, well, see? I've never been to Himmelstadt. Sorry, mate."

For that, Newkirk got punched in the eye…again. Before his head stopped spinning enough to open his eyes, he heard a gun cock and felt its barrel press against his forehead.

"Look at me!" Hans exclaimed.

Reluctantly, Newkirk reopened his eyes, trying not to notice the gun in his face. The vision in his left eye was blurred now, which didn't surprise him, but he stared straight at Hans, trying not to look away from the utter insanity radiating from the German's eyes.

Hans gave a maniacal laugh, and abruptly pulled the trigger.

_*click*_

Despite himself, Newkirk startled violently, giving an audible gasp. The jolt sent a stab of pain through most of his body and his head started spinning again. It took a few seconds for his brain to comprehend that he wasn't dead.

"That was interesting, wasn't it?" said Hans. "It's a little game I heard of that the Russians enjoy. It's called, appropriately, 'Russian Roulette'." With that, he jammed the gun into Newkirk's chest, and fired again.

_*click*_

Newkirk closed his eyes, his body shaking. _Oh Blimey, _he thought. _I'm gonna die tonight!_

Hans smiled. "I see that you've heard of it." He removed the gun and held it up, spinning the chamber. "I wonder which one of these has the bullet in it?"

With that, he pointed it in Newkirk's face, and fired again.

_*click*_

"Tsk tsk," said Hans. "It wasn't _that_ one either!"

Newkirk's heart was beating like a racehorse, and his lungs felt constricted. Neither his nerves nor his body could take much more abuse. "Don't ya realize what ya doin'?" he asked, breathlessly. "Ya 'ave a younger brother that looks up ta ya…do ya want 'im ta become like _you_?"

Stars erupted in his vision and he was knocked to the floor when Hans brutally whacked him in the face with his gun. He couldn't stop himself from moaning.

"I'm not making Fritz like _anything_!" Hans shouted. "You _Englanders_ made me this way!"

Newkirk couldn't answer even if he tried. His consciousness was swimming in and out.

"Say something!" Hans exclaimed. "Answer for yourself!"

Suddenly, Newkirk was grabbed and sat up against the wall again. He opened his eyes reflexively.

"If you're not going to talk," said Hans. "I'll make sure you _can't_!" With that, he wrapped his hands around Newkirk's throat.

Newkirk gasped, having not expected that. He tried to raise his still-tied hands, despite the pain in his shoulder, and something bumped them. In shock, he realized that it was Hans' gun.

Newkirk grabbed it, shoved it between them, and fired.

_*click*_

Nothing happened, and Newkirk remembered that there was only one bullet in the gun. Desperately, he pulled the trigger again and again, but all the gun did was click.

Hans laughed and let go of Newkirk's throat with one hand, grabbing the gun and tossing it away. "It wasn't loaded at _all_!" he shouted. "I made the game _better_!" He replaced his hand, and squeezed harder.

Newkirk's lungs felt like they were about to explode. He could hear his frantic pulse pounding through his head, and as his vision began to cloud over, he knew that he was about to die.

"HANS!" Fritz's voice exclaimed out of nowhere. "LET HIM GO!"

Hans heard the sound of running feet, but didn't let go of Newkirk. It was too late…his anger and lunacy had taken over.

Hogan and the others ran into the room, stunned to see the German choking the life out of their friend. Fritz ran over to Hans and pulled at his arms, trying to make him let go. None of the others could shoot at Hans with Fritz in the way, so Hogan ran over and smashed Hans on the head with his gun. He and Carter then pulled his hands away from their friend's throat.

Newkirk was unconscious, and bonelessly slumped into Carter's arms.

"Newkirk!" the American sergeant exclaimed, terrified. "Newkirk! Open your eyes!"

Hogan quickly felt his neck for a pulse, barely finding it. He saw, to his shock, that Newkirk's lips were blue, and he wasn't breathing. "Carter, MOVE!" he shouted.

Carter nervously let go as Hogan grabbed Newkirk and quickly laid him on the floor. In desperation, he pressed hard on Newkirk's stomach, hoping it would force him to take a breath. To everyone's relief, it worked. Newkirk suddenly started gasping and coughing, and Carter gently raised his shoulders and leaned him up against himself.

Everyone sat and stared, in complete shock that they'd arrived to save Newkirk's life with literally no time to spare.

Hogan took a knife out of his pocket and reached over to cut the rope binding Newkirk's wrists, exposing the bloody mess beneath.

LeBeau started ranting in French. He stood and went over to the unconscious Hans, and kicked him. Watching, the others suddenly realized that Fritz was gone.

"Where'd the kid go?" said Kinch.

As in on cue, Fritz ran back into the room holding a glass. He dropped to his knees beside Carter and the still gasping Newkirk, holding the glass to the Englishman's lips.

Newkirk was too out-of-it to even realize that his friends had found him. As blood circulated back into his hands, he moaned from the pain.

Carter took the glass from Fritz. "Newkirk?" he said, having to clear his throat when his voice cracked. "Newkirk, have some water."

Newkirk didn't realize whose voice he was hearing. He finally noticed the glass touching his lips, and took a sip, wincing from the pain in his throat.

Carter patiently fed him the water, handing the glass back to Fritz when it was empty. "Newkirk? We're here, buddy. Open your eyes," he pleaded.

Revived thanks to the water, Newkirk finally recognized Carter's voice, and his eyes partly opened. "Andrew?" he said, still breathing fast, his voice a scratchy whisper. "Am I glad…ta see ya, mate…"

Carter shakily smiled.

"How badly are you hurt?" Hogan asked him, eyeing the bloody bandages on Newkirk's leg and shoulder. "I don't suppose you can walk?"

Newkirk closed his eyes, as dizzy from relief as he was from his injuries. He couldn't talk for a minute.

Everyone waited nervously, shooting glances at Hans to make sure he wasn't regaining consciousness.

Carter felt Newkirk shift slightly in his arms, as if trying to see how much mobility he had.

Newkirk felt as weak as a newborn, and his brain was spinning in circles on top of all the pain. He decided that right now, his pride didn't matter. "Bad enough, guv," he admitted, answering Hogan's questions in order. "I don't think so." His voice was hardly more than a scratchy whisper.

Hogan looked at Fritz. "Does your father's car run?"

Fritz nodded.

"Great. Kinch?"

The tall radioman knew what Hogan was asking. He went over to Carter and carefully got his hands under Newkirk's body, gently picking him up.

Newkirk tried not to groan, but couldn't stop himself. Everyone quickly left the room, with Fritz remaining behind.

Hogan looked at him. "Coming?"

Fritz nodded.

Hogan could see that he needed a moment alone with his brother, unconscious or not. He followed the others and got into the driver's seat of the car, starting it up and waiting.

Fritz came out a few minutes later, with a couple of suitcases. He threw them into the truck, and quickly got into the car.

Newkirk sat between Carter and LeBeau, head lying on Carter's shoulder. He appeared passed-out, and Fritz sighed.

The trip back to the stalag was much shorter thanks to the car, and they soon reached their tree stump. Newkirk regained some semblance of consciousness, which made it easier to get him down into the tunnel, where they laid him on a cot.

Fritz was in shock and awe to see that these men were all prisoners of the stalag, with the ability to come and go as they please. He hung back quietly as the others hovered over Newkirk, assessing his injuries.

Hogan unwrapped the bandage from Newkirk's shoulder, wincing at the bloody stab wound. He saw that Newkirk's entire shoulder was swollen and bruised, and he frowned at the sight. "Newkirk?" he said. "What else happened to your shoulder?"

The Englishman was conscious enough to understand the question. "Dislocated it."

"How'd you do that?"

"Hans tied me arms behind meself…I tried ta do LeBeau's little trick ta get them in front." He looked at the Frenchmen. "It wasn't as easy for me as it is for you, mate, as ya can see…but at least I _did_ succeed!" He closed his eyes and swallowed with a wince, his injured throat aching from talking.

Everyone looked at each other in shock, that Newkirk had been forced to do something so extreme.

Fritz suddenly realized something. "Hans didn't feed him," he blurted.

Everyone looked at him, and LeBeau ranted something in French again, rushing over to a ladder and disappearing up it.

Kinch and Carter finished retrieving the medical supplies that they kept nearby, and then Carter went over to Fritz.

"Newkirk is my best friend," Carter told him, holding out his hand. "Thanks for saving him."

Fritz had been afraid that they might be angry at him for what Hans had done. Relieved, he reached out and shook Carter's hand.

TBC


	12. Home Sweet Home

The next hour was spent caring for Newkirk's injuries. LeBeau had quickly come back with a cup of soup and some water, which he'd helped Newkirk drink. The Englishman felt a little better after finally having something in his stomach, and was better able to cooperate.

The four friends all had a hard time keeping their anger in check when they saw all that Hans had done to him. Newkirk's torso was a mass of colors, and it seemed a miracle that his ribs were merely bruised and not broken. When they heard that Hans had repeatedly kicked him, LeBeau was glad that _he'd_ kicked _Hans_.

Hogan stitched the bullet graze on Newkirk's leg, and the stab wound in his shoulder. It seemed likely that Newkirk had a concussion, after finding numerous bumps on his head and bruises on his forehead. Newkirk admitted to feeling permanently dizzy, which confirmed their assumption. They decided to dress him in a clean uniform rather than nightclothes; he couldn't dress himself alone, with his left shoulder practically immobile, and they knew that they might not have enough time to help him in the morning before roll call.

They'd barely finished when a sudden shout sounded upstairs in the barracks.

"ROLL CALL! EVERYBODY OUT! RAUS, RAUS!"

"Roll call?!" Carter exclaimed, in shock. "Now?!"

Hogan sighed. "Klink must have returned and is suspicious. Kinch, LeBeau, get up there and cover for us!"

The two men dashed upstairs, seeing that the other prisoners had wisely corralled Schultz so the guard wouldn't see the tunnel open up.

"Fritz, stay here," said Hogan.

Fritz nodded, nervously.

Hogan quickly but carefully got Newkirk's jacket on him, and he and Carter helped him up and supported him over to the ladder.

Newkirk held his breath; his brain felt like it was trying to fly out of his head. He was able to put some weight on his leg, which was a relief, but he desperately hoped that roll call wouldn't last too long.

It took seemingly forever to get up the ladder, with Newkirk unable to use his left arm. Hogan threw Newkirk's coat over his shoulders and they got him outside, relieved to see that LeBeau and Kinch were both annoying Schultz as much as possible, so the guard wouldn't notice how long it took them to get out there.

The three men took their places, with Hogan holding onto Newkirk. He could tell that the Englishman wouldn't be able to stand through the whole roll call under his own power, and as Schultz neared them, he whispered, "Stand in front of Newkirk and me, Schultz."

"Why?"

Newkirk lifted his head, and Schultz squinted at him. His face dawned with shock at the visible injuries. Without a word, the guard turned around where he stood and pronounced all prisoners accounted for.

Newkirk tried not to slump against Hogan, trying to keep his head up. He felt terribly weak, and it seemed like the camp was spinning around him. It took every ounce of willpower that he contained to remain standing, even with the colonel's support.

Hogan sighed, holding onto Newkirk tightly. He desperately hoped that this roll call would be short…and that Klink wouldn't address him or have Schultz move for any reason.

Klink walked closer, and it was obvious that he was angry. "Would anyone here happen to know why I received a call from General Burkhalter, telling me to go to the Hofbrau and stay until someone arrived with a package?" he exclaimed.

"He sent you a fruitcake?" LeBeau shouted.

Everyone laughed.

"Ha ha, very funny!" Klink said, sarcastically. "General Burkhalter did not _make_ that phone call!"

"How do you know?" someone asked.

"Because the General happened to arrive _himself_, and _told_ me that he didn't! When I asked who could've done such a thing, his answer was, 'maybe it was one of your prisoners!' so, I ask you all now, did someone _here_ make that call?"

No one answered.

Hogan was inwardly laughing, wishing that he didn't have to keep his mouth shut to avoid Klink noticing Newkirk's state.

"Maybe the General played a joke on you, Kommandant," Schultz innocently said.

Klink wasn't surprised. "Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer," he mumbled. With a sigh, he gave up. "Dissssmissed!" he exclaimed, before turning and walking away.

Schultz watched as Hogan and Carter helped Newkirk back to their barracks. Half of him itched to know what had happened, while the other half wanted to pretend that he hadn't seen anything. "I know _nothing_!" he said to himself, hurrying away.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reentering the barracks, Hogan steered Newkirk to Carter's bunk, since Newkirk couldn't climb the ladder to his own. They gently laid him down, while LeBeau looked for something to cook, everyone having missed supper while rescuing their friend.

"Could I 'ave some water?" Newkirk asked.

Carter scurried to get it; bringing it back and helping him drink it. "Is there anything else you need?"

Newkirk tiredly closed his eyes. "A week of sleep."

"Here," said Hogan, taking some aspirins out of a bottle. "Take these."

Newkirk obeyed, wincing and giving as gasp as they slid down his bruised throat.

Carter sat on the side of the bunk, watching him. He was still stunned over the fact that his friend was alive.

Newkirk closed his eyes and quickly drifted off into a doze, until he suddenly became aware that he was hearing someone sniff. It took effort to reopen his eyes, and he saw exactly what he expected. "Andrew?" he said.

Carter had shifted his gaze to the floor, and didn't know that his friend was awake. "Do you need something?" he quickly asked, standing.

Newkirk shook his head, and instantly regretted it when it increased the painful spinning. He winced and closed his eyes, covering them with his right hand, and suddenly felt Carter sit on the side of the bunk and put a hand on his arm.

"You okay?" Carter asked, nervously.

It was a few seconds before Newkirk could answer. "Are _you_?"

Carter sniffed again, and Newkirk reopened his eyes.

"I thought you were dead," the American said, tearfully. "We looked for you in between every roll call, and when we never found you, we searched the rubble of the bridge. I thought I killed you in the blast."

Newkirk sighed at that. "I'm sorry, mate."

Carter sniffed and wiped his eyes. "It's not _your_ fault." He sighed. "If Fritz hadn't found us…"

"Fritz!" said LeBeau. "We left him in the tunnel!"

"I'll go check on him," Kinch volunteered.

Hogan inwardly winced. He'd been so focused on watching Newkirk that he'd momentarily forgotten about the young man.

"Wait a minute, Kinch," said LeBeau. "You can bring him some food."

"Bring 'im up _'ere_," said Newkirk. "Colonel, 'e's a kid, not a POW..."

Hogan nodded, realizing Newkirk's point. Fritz had just been through an ordeal himself, and was probably scared and upset. "Bring him up," he told Kinch, before looking at Newkirk. "Do you know how old he is?"

"Seventeen."

LeBeau *tsked*. "Poor kid." He walked over to Newkirk with a bowl. "Here."

The delicious aroma of beef stew permeated the air, and Carter helped Newkirk sit up, wincing himself when his friend gave a pained gasp. "Sorry!"

Newkirk gave no answer, eyes closed for a minute as he tried to cope with the pain.

Carter shot Hogan a worried look, not even sure which injury he'd aggravated.

The colonel took the bowl from LeBeau, just as the tunnel opened again and Kinch climbed out, followed by Fritz. The German boy looked around the room before completely climbing out. He spotted Newkirk, and hurried over.

Newkirk had just opened his eyes and taken the bowl from Hogan, relieved that it was his left shoulder that was injured, and not his right. He sat the bowl on his stomach and took a bite, glad that LeBeau had made something substantial instead of more soup.

"Here, Fritz," said LeBeau, handing him a bowl.

"Thanks," he answered. Looking around, he sat on the table bench backwards, facing Newkirk.

Everyone ate quietly, practically starving after the harrowing events of the day.

Newkirk wasn't able to finish his food. Despite being famished, swallowing was agonizing after nearly being strangled to death. He placed the spoon back into the bowl and closed his eyes with a sigh.

Fritz was the one to eventually break the silence. "What are you going to do with me?"

Hogan answered him. "We can have a submarine pick you up and take you to England, or have the Underground smuggle you to Switzerland. Your choice."

"England's lovely this time o' year," said Newkirk, feeling someone take his bowl away.

"I'm sure it is," said Fritz, with a smile. "But I think I'd rather choose Switzerland. It's closer to home…maybe I can return someday, after the war."

Hogan nodded. "Sounds like a plan. You might have to stay in the tunnels for a few days though, before they're able to come get you."

Fritz nodded. "Okay."

Hogan looked at his watch. "Schultz will be here in a little while to call 'lights out'. You'll have to sleep in the tunnel, Fritz. I hope you're not afraid of the dark."

Fritz smiled, though he did look apprehensive about staying down there all alone.

"I'll man the radio for a while," said Kinch. "I'll let London know that we found our 'cub', and send a message to the Underground about Fritz."

Hogan nodded. "Okay."

Carter had gone to the door, and was looking out it. "Schultz is coming already!" he suddenly said.

"Kinch," said Hogan, gesturing at Fritz.

The radioman grabbed the young German and hustled him over to the tunnel, hitting the lever and sending him down. The bunk closed just before Schultz opened the door.

The guard walked in slowly, looking uneasy. He hadn't been able to stay away…he cared about the prisoners, especially a lucky few, and wanted to make sure that Newkirk was all right. He looked around and spotted him on Carter's bunk. Throwing Hogan a glance, he walked over and peered at the Englishman, whose eyes were closed.

"Colonel Hoooogan…" Schultz whisper-whined. "What happened to him?"

Hogan sighed. He watched Newkirk for a minute, who didn't open his eyes and appeared to have fallen asleep. He definitely looked quite a sight…his face and forehead had numerous bruises, cuts, and a blackened left eye, on top of unnaturally pale skin. He looked like he'd been through the wringer.

At least Schultz couldn't see Newkirk's injured shoulder and leg.

"Before I tell you, Schultz," Hogan said. "Are you sure that you _really_ want to know?"

Schultz was still staring at Newkirk, but now he closed his eyes. "Not if it is monkey business!"

Newkirk suddenly groaned and moved his head slightly.

Schultz's eyes reopened.

Newkirk blinked, finding the German guard bending over him. "That you, Schultzie?" He blinked again and rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Stay still, will ya?" he mumbled, his voice still terribly scratchy.

Schultz decided that Newkirk looked even worse while awake. "Is he okay, Colonel Hogan?" he asked, as if Newkirk wasn't even there.

"He'll be fine, Schultz, he just needs rest. Give us a few extra minutes in the morning, huh?"

Schultz nodded, still watching Newkirk, whose eyes had closed again. He straightened up, with a sigh. "Lights out in ten minutes. I will tell the other guards that if the lights come on again in the night, that one of your men isn't feeling well and to leave you alone."

Hogan was touched. "Thanks, Schultz. We appreciate that."

Schultz nodded and gave Newkirk one more glance before leaving.

Kinch went into the tunnel to man the radio and keep Fritz company, and everyone proceeded to change into their nightclothes. Hogan saw that Newkirk really was asleep, so he grabbed Carter's blanket and covered him up before going into his quarters, trying to think up an explanation for Klink regarding Newkirk's battered appearance at the soon-coming morning roll call…

TBC


	13. Pig Piling?

"Newkirk? Newkirk, wake up."

The voice came out of nowhere but seemed to be everywhere. Newkirk heard it, but couldn't seem to respond.

"Newkirk, you have to get up for roll call," Hogan said. He watched as the Englishman struggled to wake, his expression changing from peaceful sleep into a pained wince. "Newkirk?" he said again, squeezing his good arm. "We don't have much time."

The voice finally cut through, and Newkirk groaned, opening his eyes. He found Hogan and Carter sitting on the side of the bunk, and experimentally shifted his position. "Ohhh, blimey…" he moaned, closing his eyes. "I don't think there's _anythin'_ that doesn't 'urt."

Hogan sighed, knowing well the feeling of stiffened-up injuries, especially after sleeping in a cold room. "I know," he said. "Come on, we'll help." He got an arm under Newkirk's back and gently sat him up.

Newkirk sucked in a pained breath and kept his eyes squeezed shut until some of the pain died down. His head and shoulder were throbbing as if they had their own heartbeats, a sharp pain traveled through his leg, and he only _hoped_ that he could stand on it through the entire roll call. His ribs and various muscles ached dully from the multiple bruises, and his throat felt on fire, from his near-strangulation.

He groaned again…this time, in annoyance of how painful the next week would likely be.

"Newkirk?" Carter said, this time.

Reopening his eyes, Newkirk found that at least he wasn't as dizzy as the day before. He allowed them to help him to his feet as Kinch came over with his coat. Hogan and Carter put it on him and helped him slowly limp out the door.

The blast of cold air that hit Newkirk's face helped clear his head somewhat, and he realized that it was snowing. He was glad that it wasn't sunny, as he really didn't want bright light blasting his eyes right now.

Schultz watched them walk to their places, and finished counting, standing in front of Hogan and Newkirk again. "All prisoners accounted for, Herr Kommandant!"

Klink apparently didn't want to be out in the snow. "Good. Dissssmissed!"

Hogan was relieved and started helping Newkirk back to the barracks, hoping that Klink wasn't watching.

"Hogan! Stop right there!"

_I knew we wouldn't get away with this,_ Hogan thought. He turned around and let go of Newkirk, hoping that some of the Englishman's stiffness had left now that he was out of bed, and he'd be able to get by on his own. "Yeah, Kommandant?"

"Newkirk! You too!"

With a sigh, Newkirk stopped and turned around, hoping that his slowness appeared as nonchalance.

Klink walked forward, passing Hogan, to peer into the corporal's face. He stared in shock at the terrible bruises before looking at the colonel. "Hogan! What happened to this man!"

Hogan sighed. "Well, sir, he suddenly decided to try escaping, and we were all so desperate to stop him from probably getting hurt, that we all pig-piled on top of him…and accidentally hurt him ourselves."

The expression on Klink's face was priceless. He opened his mouth as if to question the ridiculous story, but shook his head instead. "There will be no more…pig-piling?…in my camp! If someone attempts escape, they will be sent to the cooler for thirty days! Guards!"

Newkirk paled even more than he already was. He really couldn't handle being in the cooler right now.

Hogan had the same thought as Newkirk, and stared in shock as two Germans came over and roughly grabbed the Englishman, making Newkirk gasp aloud from the pain in his shoulder. They dragged him off, with Newkirk struggling to keep up on his injured leg. "Colonel _Klink_!" Hogan exclaimed.

"No, I don't want to hear it, Hogan! Someone must be made an example, to discourage disobedience!" With that, Klink walked back towards his office.

"Colonel!" Carter exclaimed. "We can't leave Newkirk in there in his condition!"

"I know, I know!" Hogan said, upset that his cover-up lie had done more harm than good. He quickly hurried after Klink.

The Kommandant wasn't surprise when Hogan followed him into his office.

"Now hold it, Colonel," Hogan said. "Newkirk didn't _attempt_ escape! He simply voiced his eagerness to be home, just like all of us here. It's not _his _fault that we jumped the gun!"

Klink sat at his desk. "Hogan, _I _am in charge of this camp, and I deserve to be in control! There's never been a successful escape from this stalag, and I mean to keep it that way!"

"But you saw Newkirk's face!" Hogan exclaimed. "I think he's suffering _enough _for his perfectly normal wish. Wouldn't _you_ feel homesick if _you_ were a prisoner? Forced to live in a hut with over a dozen other men, with none of the comforts of home, and nothing to do but lie on your bunk and stare at the ceiling, thinking of your family and friends back in your own country—"

Klink waved his arms around, unable to deny _that_. "All right! All right! I suppose that's true." He shrugged. "Fine…I'll let him out of the cooler."

Hogan sighed with relief. "Thanks, Kommandant. You're a very fair man."

The compliment went to Klink's head, as usual.

Hogan left the office and bumped into Schultz. "The Kommandant said that Newkirk can come out of the cooler!"

"Oh, good!" said Schultz, taking Hogan's word for it and turning around to follow.

The door opened, and Klink came out. "I heard that! Schultz! You should've asked me if it was true before believing a prisoner!"

Schultz frowned. "But Kommandant, Colonel Hogan wouldn't lie."

Klink shook his fist. "Mfph!"

Hogan ignored him and left the building, headed over to the cooler with Schultz trailing behind. He saw the others and nodded, letting them know that he'd gotten his way and Newkirk was free. Once he got into the stalag 'dungeon', he found that the cooler was definitely holding up to its name today.

Newkirk lay curled up on the bench in the cell, with his arms wrapped around his aching body. He looked miserable, and barely glanced up when they arrived.

Schultz unlocked the cell, and Hogan entered, going over and taking the corporal's good arm. "Come on, Newkirk, let's go."

Newkirk was visibly surprised.

Hogan mock-frowned. "Did you doubt me?" He shook his head. "The nerve!"

Newkirk smiled slightly and let Hogan help him up. The colonel held onto his arm as they left.

Carter and the others had been stopped at the door by the outside guards, and smiled at Newkirk and Hogan as they came out. They wordlessly went back to their barracks and sat Newkirk on Carter's bunk again.

"Did the guards hurt you worse?" Hogan asked, concerned. He reached over and started unbuttoning Newkirk's coat.

"No," Newkirk answered. He cooperated as the colonel got his coat and jacket off, and tried to remove his shirt himself, but his injured shoulder prevented him.

Carter helped him, and everyone stared in shock at something they hadn't seen the night before.

Newkirk expected Hogan to remove the bandage on his shoulder, but when he didn't, he looked up. "What?" he asked, after seeing the looks on their faces.

"How's your throat feel?" Hogan suddenly asked.

Newkirk made a face. "Like I swallowed a piece of burnin' coal." His voice still sounded scratchy. "I'm guessin' it looks bad?"

"Bad?" said LeBeau. "Let's just say it's a good thing your shirt has such a high collar."

Carter was speechless. When he'd seen Hans strangling his friend, he knew he'd have bruises, but seeing them was almost impossible to bear. He turned away and approached the stove.

Hogan sat on the bunk and looked at Newkirk's neck. Deep purple marks surrounded it, looking very painful. "There's nothing we can do about that."

Newkirk nodded—carefully. "I know."

Carter came back with a mug, and handed it to him. "Here, this might help."

Newkirk took it, finding hot tea inside. He drank it slowly…swallowing hurt, but the heat soothed the pain. "Thanks, Andrew," he said, gratefully.

Carter smiled.

Within minutes, the bandages on Newkirk's shoulder and leg were changed, and he was once again dozing.

Carter sat at the nearby table and simply stared at him for a while. "Colonel?" he eventually said.

"Yeah, Carter?"

"What do you think he went through? I mean…we can see what Hans did to him. But what do you think he _really_ went through over there?"

Hogan shook his head. "I don't know. All we can do is ask him."

Carter nodded, not even looking towards the tunnel when it suddenly opened.

Fritz poked his head up. "Is it safe to come up?"

Hogan nodded, not having the heart to tell him that if it had been _unsafe_, he wouldn't even have had time to ask, because the Germans would've been on top of him before he even had a chance to open his mouth.

With a smile, Fritz climbed out, his expression changing to one of worry when he saw Newkirk lying on the bunk. "Is he asleep?" he whispered.

Hogan nodded.

Fritz came closer, frowning. "He looks terrible."

Hogan nodded again. Some of the bruises had deepened, making Newkirk look like he'd been hit by one of the German's tanks.

"I'm sorry," Fritz said, looking at the floor.

Hogan looked at him. "Did _you_ do any of this?" he said, gesturing towards their injured friend.

Fritz's eyes opened wide and he vehemently shook his head. "No!"

"Then you have nothing to apologize for."

Fritz relaxed, at that. "But I still feel like there was something I should've done."

"But you _did_ do something, Fritz," Carter cut in. "You came and got us. We were searching the rubble of that bridge, and would never have been anywhere near your house when Hans tried to kill him. Thanks to you, we reached Newkirk just in time!"

Fritz smiled.

They were silent for a minute, watching Newkirk sleep, before Fritz spoke again. "What happened to that bridge, anyway?"

Hogan and Carter glanced at each other.

"Um, it blew up," the sergeant said, with a shrug.

Fritz blinked, but asked no more questions.

***************

Hans opened his eyes, finding his head pounding. He stared up at the ceiling, dazed, for a long time before his memory came back to him and he remembered what had happened. Urgently, he sat up, ignoring the stars that invaded his vision as he realized that his prisoner was gone.

_And where's Fritz?!_ he wondered.

Standing, he held onto the wall as he left the room. "Fritz?!" he shouted, increasing his own headache. It took him a while thanks to the concussion that he'd been dealt by that stranger—_Who __**were**__ those people?_ he wondered_—_but he searched the house and didn't find his brother. He eventually made his way outside, surprised to see that it was daytime. He found that his father's car was missing, and with a growl, he headed back into the house and over to the phone, quickly picking it up.

"Connect me to Gestapo Headquarters," he told the operator…

TBC


	14. Wise Decision

The sound of pouring liquid suddenly met Newkirk's ears, and he drifted towards wakefulness, hearing the slight 'slurp' of someone drinking said liquid. With effort, he opened his eyes, before closing them immediately; they felt too heavy to stay up.

"Newkirk?"

The Englishman tried to reopen his eyes again, and succeeded. He blinked at Carter, who was sitting at the table, facing him. Inside his hand was a coffee cup.

"How you feeling, buddy?" Carter asked, sounding glad to see him awake.

Newkirk really didn't want to assess himself…everything hurt too much. "Alive," he answered. He eyed Carter's cup. "Any tea?"

The American sergeant jumped to his feet and gladly made some, bringing it back to his friend. "Here you go…extra sugar, just how you like it!"

Newkirk smiled, before gingerly pushing himself up on one elbow.

Carter reached out and put a hand on his friend's back, not knowing if he was strong enough to hold himself in that position. He kept hold on the cup when the Englishman had no choice but to use his bad arm to take it, and as Newkirk drank, Carter spotted the bandage around his friend's wrist.

Newkirk paused in drinking to take a breath, and opened his eyes. He immediately spotted what his friend was looking at, and frowned when he realized that he didn't remember the ropes coming off.

"What _happened_ to you over there?" Carter blurted. "I mean…we run into a bomb shelter in some German stranger's cellar to find him strangling you! You weren't breathing! You were almost dead!"

Newkirk blinked. No one had told him _that_. "Hans 'ated the British because 'is father was killed in an engagement against us. 'e took it all out on _me_."

Carter's eyes grew wide. "That's insane!"

Newkirk nodded and drank more of the tea. "Ya got that right, mate," he said after finishing.

Carter helped him lie back down, and listened as Newkirk told him everything that had happened.

"...an' then, 'e came into the room an' actually asked me why _I_ killed 'is father." Newkirk shook his head and closed his eyes. "When I told 'im I didn't, 'e pulled out 'is gun, an'…" Newkirk's eyes popped open when he realized that he didn't want Carter to know about the Russian Roulette incident.

"And?" said Hogan's voice, coming out of his office.

"An'…'e 'it me with it." Newkirk raised a hand to touch the painful bruise on the right side of his face. "Right after that was when 'e started ta strangle me. Ya really did find me just in time."

Hogan nodded and Carter's face clouded over at memory of finding his friend unconscious and not breathing.

Newkirk saw what his words had unintentionally done. "I don't suppose anyone saw me lockpick an' grabbed it?" he asked, trying to change the subject.

Carter shook his head. "I don't know. You can always get another one from London."

Newkirk sighed, before wincing at how it felt on his throat, especially after talking so much. "Yeah, but mine was broken-in. A new one will be more stiff an' won't work as fast."

"Oh."

Silence reigned for a minute.

"I can't believe a person could choose to torture someone like that," said Carter. "When they _know_ that the person is innocent."

"Unfortunately, there's a lot of people in this world who are that way," said Hogan. "Look at this _war_."

"Yeah, good point," Carter said, with a sigh.

"I wasn't innocent ta 'im," said Newkirk, eyes closed. "I was guilty just for bein' from England." He suddenly yawned.

"Maybe you should take a nap?" Carter said.

Newkirk snuggled deeper under his blanket. "Umm," he said, already drifting off.

"I'll be here when you wake up," Carter told him.

"Ya don't 'ave ta sit 'ere," Newkirk mumbled. "I'm fine."

"It's okay," Carter said. "I have nothing to do anyway."

Newkirk said no more, and Carter and Hogan watched as he drifted off to sleep.

"You heard the story he told me?" Carter whispered.

Hogan nodded. "Sure did." _As well as what he __didn't__ say…_

***************

When Newkirk woke later, he found Hogan sitting with him instead of Carter.

"Hey," the colonel said. "How you feeling?"

Newkirk blinked, the vision still blurred in his blackened left eye. "Sore," he said, with a wince.

"I'm sure."

"Where'd Carter go?"

"Showing Fritz around," Hogan told him. "I forced him to. He's been sitting with you for hours."

"A mother 'en, Andrew is."

Hogan nodded. "Is that why you didn't tell him?"

Newkirk opened his eyes, confused. "Tell 'im what?"

"Whatever it was that you hesitated about, earlier, after saying, 'e pulled out 'is gun."

Newkirk smiled. "Can't sound German, can't sound English…ya might as well give up tryin' accents, guv."

Hogan made a face. "Watch it, you're talking to your commanding officer…and don't try to change the subject. What did Hans do to you that you didn't want to tell Carter?"

Newkirk sighed, before making a face of his own at the pain still in his throat. "Wouldja mind gettin' me some water, first?"

Hogan stood and retrieved a cup, filling it and bringing it back. He helped Newkirk sit up and handed him the cup.

"I told Carter the truth, 'e really did 'it me with the gun," Newkirk said, before drinking. "But that was after 'e decided ta play a little game with me."

"Game?" Hogan asked, with a frown.

Newkirk drank the rest before handing the cup back. "Russian Roulette."

Despite himself, Hogan's mouth fell open. "_What?!_ Are you serious?!"

Newkirk nodded. "Yeah, 'e shoved the gun against me forehead an' pulled the trigger." He closed his eyes with a shudder.

Hogan was stunned. "Newkirk…"

"An' then he jabbed it into me chest an' did it again. After 'e pointed it in me face an' fired a third time, I said somethin' ta 'im…can't remember what…an' that's when 'e 'it me." He frowned. "I think I blacked out for a few seconds, an' then suddenly 'is 'ands were around me throat…I suddenly realized I could reach the gun, an' I grabbed it an' fired…but nothin' 'appened. I remembered there was only one bullet in it, an' fired again an' again…until 'e grabbed it from me." He looked up at Hogan, whose face displayed complete shock. "Colonel…there were _no_ bullets in the gun at all. 'e said it made the game 'better'."

Hogan's emotions were in a whirl. Besides being shocked speechless, he was infuriated. _Hans didn't just torture him physically…but mentally, too!_

"Ya can see why I didn't wanna tell Carter," Newkirk continued, sounding tired.

Hogan nodded. The young American sergeant would be completely horrified to know that Hans had done something like that to his best friend.

Newkirk looked at Hogan again, aware that he had yet to speak. "Are ya all right, Colonel?"

Hogan shook his head, still shocked. "Am _I_ all right? Newkirk…how has this affected you?" Hogan knew that he himself would've been scared to death..._anyone_ would.

Newkirk shrugged, before closing his eyes with a gasp at what the motion did to his injured shoulder. "I was sure I was gonna die…I didn't expect ta come outta that room alive," Newkirk told him. "I don't think it's really 'it me yet that ya got me outta there...I almost feel like I'm dreamin'."

Before Hogan could reply to that, Carter came back into the barracks. His face lit up when he saw his friend awake. "Hey Newkirk! How do you feel?"

Fritz came in after him, wearing someone's hat, to hide his features.

"Better," Newkirk said. "Enjoy the sights, Fritz?"

The young German wasn't sure how to reply to that one. While he was amazed to see a POW camp from the inside, that's just what it was…a Prisoner of War camp, of which he'd heard terrible stories.

Newkirk saw his uncertainty. "It's not as bad as ya think…at least, in _this_ camp. We've got ol' Klink an' some of the guards wrapped around our fingers."

Hogan was a little surprised that Newkirk would say that to Fritz. The Englishman looked completely exhausted and probably didn't fully realize what he'd just said, so he cut in before Newkirk could give away anything else in his injured state. "We received word from England. They're sending a group of Underground agents here tomorrow night to pick you up."

Again, Fritz wasn't sure what to say. He was relieved to get away from the Nazi-infested country, but sad to leave his home at the same time. Despite what his brother had done, he still loved him. He wondered what Hans was doing at that very moment. _Probably looking for me, _he thought, sadly. He smiled though, and opened his mouth to thank the colonel, but frowned instead when he looked at Newkirk.

Hogan followed his gaze, and was alarmed to see the Englishman's color fading right before their eyes. Newkirk's eyes were closed, and his head was drooping.

Carter gasped and reached out just as Hogan did, and they both took hold of him, startling Newkirk into raising his head, before he closed his eyes again with a wince.

"What's wrong?" Hogan urgently asked, as they both carefully laid him down.

"Dunno…" Newkirk mumbled, eyes still closed. "Light'eaded."

"Just rest," said Hogan, fixing the Englishman's blanket. "You'll be fine."

Newkirk let out a breath, his eyes scrunching a little from the pain that they knew he felt throughout his body. Within a few minutes, his face relaxed in sleep.

"The same thing happened that day," Fritz whispered, nervously. "Only, he passed out that time."

The two Americans looked at him.

"It was after Hans…stabbed him," said Fritz, with a gulp. "I didn't know what had happened…I went into the room to check on him and found him bleeding and unconscious. I bandaged his shoulder and he woke up, but a few minutes later he did _that_," he said, motioning with his chin towards Newkirk.

Hogan and Carter could see that Fritz had no experience with injured people, and was understandably frightened. "It's okay," said Hogan. "He'll be fine. With losing blood _and_ having a head injury, it's expected to get lightheaded and dizzy. Don't worry."

Fritz nodded.

Voices could suddenly be heard, and Carter went over to the door, opening it and putting a finger in front of his mouth in the 'shh' gesture. Kinch and LeBeau came in quietly, stealing glances at Newkirk as they walked in.

"I think _you_ should get into the tunnel," Kinch said to Fritz. "Hochstetter just pulled in."

Hogan's eyebrows rose and he stood. Without a word, he headed into his office to plug in the coffeepot-bug, with LeBeau behind him as Kinch ran over and opened the tunnel, sending Fritz down before heading after Hogan.

Carter automatically started to follow them, before looking back at Newkirk, not wanting to leave him alone. With a sigh, he sat at the table, knowing that he'd soon find out what the Gestapo was doing there.

It wasn't long before the others came back out again. Carter watched as LeBeau went over to the door and peeked out it. "What's going on?" he whispered to Hogan.

"They're looking for Fritz," Hogan whispered back. "Hans notified the Gestapo that an RAF sergeant named 'Dawson' kidnapped his brother, along with at least two other men who he didn't see, having been 'attacked from behind'."

Carter closed his eyes with relief and shook his head. "Wow…good thing he didn't see us! And thank God Newkirk gave a different name…and rank, even!"

Hogan nodded. "You can say _that_ again. Klink told Hochstetter that 'no one has ever escaped from stalag thirteen', and that was that."

"Hochstetter just left," LeBeau suddenly whispered, closing the door and going back over to them. "That was _close_."

Hogan sighed and nodded again, watching as Newkirk slept on, completely unaware that his wise decision had prevented the destruction of their operation, and their very _lives_.

TBC


	15. Nightmares, Tea, and a Smart Colonel

_"Look at me!" Hans exclaimed, jabbing his gun against the Englishman's forehead._

_Reluctantly, Newkirk opened his eyes, trying not to notice the gun in his face. _

_Hans gave a maniacal laugh, and abruptly pulled the trigger._

_*click*_

_Despite himself, Newkirk startled violently, giving an audible gasp._

_"That was interesting, wasn't it?" said Hans. "It's a little game I heard of that the Russians enjoy. It's called, appropriately, 'Russian Roulette'." With that, he held the gun up and looked at it. "We're not going to play the same game that we did before, though. This time, instead of only one __bullet__ being in the gun, I have only one __chamber__ being __empty__. What are the chances that it would've been __that__ one? You should be dead right now. You must be a very lucky person!"_

_Newkirk closed his eyes, his body shaking. 'Oh Blimey,' he thought. 'I'm gonna die tonight!'_

_Hans smiled and spun the gun's chamber. "I wonder which one is empty __now__?" He pointed it in the Englishman's face._

_Fear was nearly preventing Newkirk from breathing. "Don't ya realize what ya doin'?" he asked, breathlessly. _

_"Of course I do." He cocked the gun._

_Newkirk closed his eyes, and heard it fire. Pain filled his left shoulder, and he gasped loudly._

_"Huh, I missed," Hans joked, with a smile._

_Newkirk clenched his teeth, not allowing himself to groan._

_"Well, __that__ chamber's empty now too," said Hans. "Five more to go before we reach that one again. I wonder how close it is to the __other__ empty one?" He reached over and placed the gun to Newkirk's forehead again. "You wanna pick the next place I shoot? Maybe I should do it there again. You think you'll get lucky twice?"_

_Newkirk desperately wished his hands weren't tied. He wanted nothing more than to grab the gun and show Hans what it felt like to be at the mercy of someone's insane game._

_"I don't think I'll risk it," said Hans. "This is too much fun! Let's make it last as long as possible, eh?" With that, he moved the gun before firing._

_This time, the bullet tore into Newkirk's left lower leg._

_"See, __that__ one wasn't empty!" Hans said. "Aren't you glad I changed my mind?"_

_"I'll…be glad…when Colonel Hogan…gets 'ere an'…makes ya pay…" Newkirk gasped._

_Hans' faced darkened at that. He roughly shoved the gun against Newkirk's head, and fired._

_*click*_

_Hans stared, stunned, before laughing hysterically. "Hahahahaha! You really ARE the lucky one! What are the chances!"_

_Newkirk, bleeding heavily and in horrible pain from his wounds, couldn't handle this latest shock and would've fainted dead away, if he hadn't woken up instead…_

"Newkirk! Wake up, you're having a bad dream!"

With a gasp, the Englishman opened his eyes, the sound of gunshots still filling his ears, making his head throb. He immediately became aware of the pain that filled his body, especially his shoulder, head, and leg, and thought for a few seconds that his dream had been reality. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he felt like he couldn't catch his breath.

Faces were looking down at him, but he barely saw them.

LeBeau, thinking he had a fever or something, worriedly placed a hand on his forehead. "Pierre, mon ami? Are you _in_ there?"

Newkirk blinked, finally coming back to himself. He groaned and closed his eyes, covering them with his right hand. "Yeah…though I wish I wasn't." His voice shook, to his dismay.

Everyone, though saddened to know that he was in pain, smiled with relief to hear him speak.

"You were having a nightmare," Carter told him, nervously. "What'd you dream?"

Newkirk looked at Hogan, knowing that the colonel probably had an idea.

Hogan did, and gave him a sympathetic look.

"Hans…kept shootin' me," Newkirk told them. He took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm okay." Blinking, he tried to figure out what time it was. The lights were on, so it had to be before lights-out, but not by much, as everyone was in their pajamas or in their bunks.

The next event contradicted Newkirk's thoughts, as the door opened and Schultz came into the room. "Was ist los?" he asked, going over to the crowd surrounding Newkirk's—or rather, Carter's—bunk. "What happened?"

"Sorry, Schultz," said Hogan. "Newkirk had a nightmare, and we were concerned because of his condition. You said yesterday that if the light came on, you would tell the other guards that—"

"I know, I know. I did." The German guard looked at the Englishman, noting the terrible bruises and pale skin. "I just wanted to make sure that everything was all right."

"Thanks, Schultzie," Newkirk weakly said, tiredly closing his eyes again.

Schultz, not knowing the extent of the Englishman's injuries, frowned, but nodded as he nervously looked at Colonel Hogan. "Don't keep the light on much longer, _please_…?"

Hogan nodded, knowing that Klink would be angry if he found out. "We'll shut it right off, don't worry."

"Danke," the guard said, relieved. He walked over to the door. "Goodnight!"

Everyone replied in kind, and Hogan motioned for them all to go back to bed, before he sat on the side of their injured friend's bunk. "Newkirk?" he whispered.

The Englishman reopened his eyes. "Yeah?"

"You sure you're okay?"

Newkirk opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated. The colonel could always tell when he was lying.

"Do you want to talk?" Hogan asked. After seeing the effects of Newkirk's nightmare, he didn't want to just up and leave…Hans had done a terrifying thing to Newkirk, with his Russian Roulette game. "I'll help you to my quarters."

Newkirk really didn't want to move. He'd gotten away with not reporting for roll call that night, but knew that he'd have to be out there come morning. "I'd just like ta sleep." He slowly blinked. "Can't keep me eyes open."

Hogan nodded. "Okay." He patted Newkirk's good shoulder before standing. "I'll be up for a while longer in case you change your mind."

Newkirk smiled. "Thanks, guv, but I won't be awake long enough."

Hogan smiled back. "Okay. Goodnight."

"G'night." Newkirk closed his eyes and listened as Hogan tiptoed back to his room. With a sigh, he desperately hoped that he wouldn't have another dream like that…

***************

Hogan came out of his quarters the next morning before Schultz came to get them up for roll call. LeBeau was up too, making coffee, and as Hogan neared the bunks, he saw Carter roll over on Newkirk's and hang his head over the side, looking down towards their injured friend. They all knew that Newkirk would need help getting outside, and Hogan was glad to see that he wasn't the only one who remembered that.

The colonel sat on the side of the bunk and touched the Englishman's arm. "Newkirk?" he whispered. "Wake up. Time for roll call."

"Ohhh great," Newkirk mumbled.

Hogan smiled, but then he made a face when Newkirk didn't move. "Hey LeBeau," he said. "Can you—"

"Already read your mind, Colonel," the short Frenchman said.

Carter came down the ladder, rubbing sleep from his eyes, and was confused when a mug of tea was suddenly placed in his hand. He blinked at it, puzzled.

Hogan couldn't help but smile at the sight. At times, Carter seemed as innocent as a child.

The American sergeant suddenly realized that the tea was obviously for their resident Englishman. "Hey Newkirk," he said. "I've got tea for you! Hurry up before I drink it!"

Newkirk blinked his eyes open. He saw Hogan sitting on his bunk and various other POW's looking at him, and realized what was going on. "Oh," he said. "Sorry." He started to push himself up with his good arm, and Hogan helped him.

Carter handed him the tea, and watched as he drank it. "Feel any better today?" he asked.

Newkirk nodded slightly. His throat didn't hurt as much as the bruises on his neck began to heal, and his head wasn't hurting as badly. The ache in his leg had subsided, leaving his shoulder still the main cause of discomfort. He still felt weak and tired though, and hoped that roll call wouldn't last very long.

Hogan and Carter helped him get dressed, and as they assisted him with his shirt, Schultz came in to announce roll call.

"Oh! You are all already up!" he exclaimed. He spotted Newkirk sitting at the table, and his eyes opened wide at the sight of bandages wrapped around his shoulder.

Hogan, shimmying the sleeve up Newkirk's arm so he wouldn't have to lift it, looked at Schultz and opened his mouth.

The German guard closed his eyes. "No! Do _not_ tell me! I know nothing! NOTHING!" With that, he hurried out the door.

All three of them chuckled.

Carter, holding Newkirk's jacket, shook his head. "For someone who knows 'nothing', he sure knows an awful lot."

Newkirk smiled. "Ya can say _that_ again, mate." He suddenly sucked in a gasp when Hogan accidentally jostled his arm.

Hogan winced himself. "Sorry." More carefully, he got the sleeve up Newkirk's arm, and watched as the Englishman pulled the sweater over his head himself with his right hand.

Unexpectedly, Carter suddenly cracked up laughing.

Newkirk looked at him, with a puzzled frown. "What's so funny?" He looked at Hogan, to see a smirk on the colonel's face.

Carter pointed. "Your hair!"

Newkirk reached up, to find that static electricity from his sweater had stuck his hair up in all directions. "Oh, ha ha," he said, sarcastically, though he was smiling.

Schultz suddenly stuck his head in the door, before withdrawing it as if remembering that he didn't want to see what was going on. "Boys!" he shouted. "Roll call is _waiting_ for you!"

Rolling his eyes, Hogan helped Newkirk up and they went outside. Roll call didn't last too long, thankfully, and everyone was soon back in the barracks, waiting as LeBeau made breakfast.

"What 'appened ta Hans?" Newkirk suddenly asked. "I don't remember seein' when ya rescued me."

"The colonel gave him a huge whack on the head with his gun!" Carter told him.

"And while you were sleeping yesterday," said Hogan. "Hochstetter paid Klink a visit and told him that an RAF man named Dawson had kidnapped a young local boy named Fritz."

Newkirk's eyebrows rose. "So Hans notified the Gestapo, then."

Everyone nodded.

"Can you imagine what would've happened if you'd given Hans your real name!" said Carter.

Newkirk sighed with relief and pulled his dog tags out from inside his sweater, looking at them. "Can ya imagine if I'd had _these_ with me? The bugger looked for 'em when I refused ta give 'im me name." He looked at Hogan. "Leavin' 'em behind when we go out on missions 'as ta be one of the best ideas you've ever 'ad...an' ever _will_ 'ave."

Hogan smiled, full of relief. "I definitely have to agree with you on that!"

TBC  
Just one more chapter left! *sniff* lol


	16. And Life Once More Returns to 'Normal'

Fritz spent the day in the barracks, as expected, but he never left Newkirk's side, spending the entire day and evening talking with him…about his life, and his brother.

"I saw when Hans…changed," Fritz told him. "After our father died. He just started acting so different. Mean." He sighed. "Not to me," he quickly said, when Newkirk showed concern. "It's just that he was always so angry!"

Newkirk sighed from where he lay reclined on Carter's bunk. "People are like that, Fritz. When terrible things 'appen, some of 'em just don't bounce back. They get bitter an' 'ateful."

Fritz blinked. "Bitter what?"

"Bitter and hateful," Newkirk replied, purposely pronouncing the 'd' and 'h'.

"Oh! Yeah, that's what he did." Fritz sighed. "I wonder if I'll ever see him again…" he said, sadly. "And if he'll still be the same way."

Newkirk gave him an encouraging smile. "Time 'eals, mate," he said.

The German boy nodded, before blinking. "Do you think I'll like Switzerland?"

Newkirk nodded. "I'm sure ya will, it's not too different from Germany."

Fritz nodded again, before giving a wistful smile. "I wish I could stay here," he said, waving his hand to indicate the barracks.

Newkirk's eyebrows shot up. "What? Ya wanna stay _'ere_?" he said, shocked. "Why?"

"Well, I mean, I wish I could stay with _you_," Fritz said, shyly. "I wish _you_ were my brother instead of Hans."

Newkirk was touched, and didn't know how to respond.

Hogan was standing inside the door, and witnessed the last part of the conversation. Seeing that Newkirk was having trouble replying, he decided to save his friend from having to try. He pretended that he'd just walked in, and closed the door. "Hi, Fritz," he said.

"Hi Colonel!" the German boy exclaimed.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but I need to change Newkirk's bandages before we go tonight."

Fritz's face changed when he realized what time it was. "Oh." He stood and let Hogan take his place on the bunk.

The colonel helped Newkirk sit up, and pulled the Englishman's sweater off before Newkirk had a chance to try doing it himself. Hogan reached under the bunk and pulled out the first aid kit, opening it and sitting it on top of Carter's footlocker before taking the bandage off Newkirk's shoulder. He was glad to see that the stitches were holding nicely and there was no sign of infection, but the skin was still deeply bruised, and the joint still swollen.

Fritz took a deep breath at the sight, especially when he saw the bruises that still encircled Newkirk's throat. He still couldn't get over the shock that his brother could to do such terrible things to a total stranger.

Newkirk didn't notice how his injuries were affecting the young man, too occupied with the pain that Hogan had no choice but to inflict. Within minutes, the colonel had replaced the bandages on the Englishman's shoulder and leg and given him some aspirin, knowing that the corporal was too stubborn to ask for some. He helped Newkirk lay down again and was about to say something, but the tunnel opened at that moment and Kinch came up.

"I've just been in contact with the Underground, Colonel," he said. "A group of agents will be waiting at the rock at twenty-two-hundred hours."

Fritz frowned. "The 'rock'?"

Carter suddenly climbed out of the tunnel, in time to hear Fritz. "That's right, a half mile from camp there's a huge rock, bigger than all of us put together! It makes for a great landmark!"

Fritz smiled, but inside, he wished that the rest of the night would go by slowly…

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

'Lights out' came sooner than Fritz hoped, and a short time later, everyone went down into the tunnel. He was quiet as they all climbed up the tunnel stump, watching as Carter gave Newkirk a hand, who had difficulty climbing with only one arm. Hogan had wanted Newkirk to stay behind, as the Englishman wasn't fit for an excursion, but Newkirk insisted that he _had_ to come.

Finally, they were outside, and quietly crept away from the Stalag. It was a slow walk, with Newkirk limping along, but time still seemed to go by too fast by the time they reached 'the rock'. Fritz was surprised to see that it truly _was_ as large as they'd said.

Carter helped Newkirk sit down on a fallen log, and they waited. Fritz sat beside him and nervously tried to think of something to say. Nothing came to his mind, especially with everyone standing around them.

Suddenly, they heard the call of an owl, and three people appeared in the dark. Fritz watched as Hogan shook the hand of the man in the lead and gestured to the log that he and Newkirk were sitting on.

"This is Fritz," Hogan said. "He saved Newkirk's life."

The agent smiled and walked over. "I've heard of your brave heroics, young man. Good job."

Fritz blushed. _Brave heroics?_ He stood and shook the hand that the man held out.

Newkirk stood too. "Well, this is it, mate. Thanks for savin' me life." Before the Englishman could hold out his own hand to be shaken, Fritz propelled himself forward and hugged him tight.

Newkirk gasped and stumbled back a step, painfully aware that Fritz had obviously forgotten about his bruised ribs. Hogan and Carter both threw out hands to steady him, and Newkirk patted the young man's back with the hand on his good arm.

"I'm going to miss you," Fritz said, his voice muffled in the front of Newkirk's jacket.

Newkirk smiled, feeling touched yet again. "I'll miss ya too, Fritz. Don't worry, mate, I'll look ya up after the war."

Fritz let go and looked up at him. "How will you find me? _I_ don't even know where I'll be!"

Newkirk's smile widened. "Don't worry, we 'ave ways of findin' people!"

Fritz smiled back. He shook everyone else's hands, and, with a sigh, turned around. He took two steps after the agents, before suddenly exclaiming, "Oh!" and turning back.

Newkirk watched, puzzled, as the young man returned and took something out of his pocket.

"I almost forgot to give you this!" Fritz said, holding something out.

Newkirk's mouth nearly dropped open when he saw that it was his lockpick.

"I don't even remember finding it," Fritz told him. "I discovered it in my pocket last night, and planned to give it back to you here."

Newkirk smiled and took it, looking at it for a second before putting it into his pocket. "Thanks," he said, holding out his hand.

Fritz smiled back and shook it, before turning and following after the Underground agents. They watched him go until he disappeared into the dark, before turning and heading back to the Stalag.

Everyone walked quietly, minds filled with their own thoughts on the recent events.

By the time they reached the stump again, Newkirk was relying on Carter's support, as his leg wasn't up to that much walking yet. He felt exhausted, and was relieved when he felt the bunk mattress underneath him again.

Hogan covered Newkirk with a blanket after Carter removed the Englishman's boots.

"Thanks," Newkirk mumbled, half asleep, before suddenly opening his eyes, looking troubled.

Hogan frowned. "You okay?"

Newkirk tiredly blinked. "Yeah."

"Fritz will be fine, don't worry," Hogan said, easily figuring out what Newkirk was thinking. "Maybe he'll even join the Underground."

Newkirk smiled. "Yeah, maybe 'e will." He closed his eyes, the smile remaining.

"Goodnight," Hogan said.

"Night, gov." He listened as Hogan tiptoed away to his quarters, and seconds later, was falling into a doze…

"Night, Newkirk!" Carter's voice suddenly said, making him jump.

"Carter!" he whisper-shouted.

"Yeah?"

Newkirk sighed and shook his head. "G'night, mate." He suddenly chuckled.

"What's so funny?" came Carter's whisper again, this time sounding puzzled.

"Go ta sleep, ya silly git," Newkirk replied. _An' life once more returns ta normal again at Stalag Thirteen…_

THE END  
*Gasp* it's over! Thank you, everyone, for your reviews on this story, and to the readers who didn't review…do it now! There's still time! ROTFL ;)


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